


River Styx

by Bagheera



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU after Order of the Phoenix, Action/Adventure, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post - Order of the Phoenix, Prison, Werewolves, forced to work together, written before Half-Blood Prince
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2013-12-09
Packaged: 2018-01-04 04:18:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 41,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1076443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bagheera/pseuds/Bagheera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[written in 2004]  Arrested on false charges, Remus and Snape must escape from Azkaban together and uncover a dangerous intrigue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	River Styx

**Author's Note:**

> This is so old that I no longer remember what happens in this fic. Imported from mugglenet.com.

(Note: The river Styx is a mythological river that winds nine times around Hades, the underworld. It is called the 'river of hate' and said to be poisonous.)

Prologue

The silence between every time the oars touched the grey sea was endless. The day was muted by thick fog, even the waves seemed frozen. You could not see the sky, nor the sun, although it had to be somewhere in the east. It was as if the world had been veiled by the clouds of breath of a giant beast which condensed in the frosty air.

We’re on a boat on river Styx, Remus thought, passing to the realm of the dead. And if he turned his head slightly, which hurt, he could see a tall figure in a grey cloak stand over them, and another one, almost skeletal, but human, rowing the boat. But he didn’t turn his head, instead he watched the sea, salty and grey.

His head was as fogged as that sea, and the painful sounds of the boat’s wood seemed to echo his feelings. Something, a human body, was warm against his back.

We’re on a boat to Azkaban, Remus knew.

 

Chapter One : Twenty-one Days

The boat landed on a rough shore. Grey boulders and high cliffs barred most of the island’s shores, only this small bay allowed a boat to land. Azkaban was merely a rock in the sea, massive grey stone, no seagulls lived here, and the air was drenched in stifling silence.

The skeletal man pushed the boat on the shore and then pointed his wand and the two limb men that lay inside the boat.

“Enervate,” he rasped toothlessly. One of them raised his head instantly, sitting up with a painful expression in his tired face. He was thin, his skin grey with sickness, and his hair, once a soft brown, was losing its colour, too. His robes were tattered and dirty, and seemed unfit for the cold climate.

The second man came back to life more slowly. He groaned and moved into a sitting position, trying to clutch his head with his bound hands. He had jet-black, tangled hair, and wore a black, hooded cloak, which also was dirty.

“Out,” the toothless man said. “Out of the boat!” The first man weakly struggled to get on the shore, half standing, half swaying, the second man followed him, his face still hidden by hunched shoulders and his shoulder-length hair.

The fourth figure, tall and completely hidden by it’s grey ragged cloak, swept closer as if it was floating, and both men staggered away from it, up to the prison’s high stone walls, leaving the toothless man and his boat behind. He got quickly back there and pushed away from that hopeless shore, vanishing in the thick mist.

In the stone walls there was a single metal door, which opened for them with a moaning creak, and let them inside a square yard. The yard was huge, the whole prison was built around it, and the ground there was earth, a grey and sick soil.

Two men, wrapped in thick cloaks, and a couple of the floating figures waited for them. One of the men, short, gaunt and walking on a stick, with a once handsome face and dark hair, gave the second man a parchment, who started to read it to them.

“Remus Lupin, age 38, male, sentenced to 20 years for consorting with murderers and Dark Wizards, as well as violating the werewolf restrictions. Severus Snape, age 38, male, sentenced to life for being a Death Eater and committing a number of crimes in the name of He-who-must-not-be-named.”

He paused at that, looking at them. Remus Lupin was looking back tiredly, a man with little hope. Differently the Death Eater, Snape, who wore a frosty glare of pure hatred in his face. Both were not young men anymore, but actually not old, neither by wizard nor muggle standards. So many of these wasted their life by coming here. He went on.

“You have been sentenced to spend those years here in Azkaban. You are prisoner Number 2917 and prisoner Number 2918, cell block E, cell number 21. You get a meal each day, a shower every month. Now you will get your uniforms and numbers.” He put the parchment away, and his aide, the second wizard, took Remus by the arm and led him inside the building. It was a short floor with three rooms, and he was led into the first, that looked like a very shabby infirmary. Another wizard, wearing glasses and looking slightly sick, sat at a small desk. He gave them a nod.

“Undress,” he said to Remus, who, after getting the ropes around his hands undone, took of his cloak. “Everything.”

He did so, revealing his gaunt and scarred body, a mixture of inhuman strength and slow, weakening sickness. He was ashamed, but only a little, for he was very exhausted. The man with the glasses examined him.

“Okay,” he finally said, giving him a set of striped uniforms. Remus looked at them for a moment, and it was the first time they saw real emotion on his face. He clutched them, misery plain and clear in his eyes and shaking hands, and the two prison officers feared that he might lose his composure entirely. But then he simply put them on, feeling cold. They gave back his cloak and he quickly wrapped it around him.

“Sit down,” the spectacled man beckoned and Remus sat down at the table while the man bared his arm and took out a needle. It was much like a muggle tattoo, only that it was magical, and would never be removed. Remus knew that. He looked at the other two wizards. The thin man with the walking stick took a pity on him.

“Be quiet, don’t make a lot of noise,” he told him. “Try not to get emotional, that gets the Dementors’ attention.”

“I know that,” Remus answered softly, surprised that his voice still worked. “I was studying them, once.”

“You were a Professor at Hogwarts,” the man nodded.

“So you did read my files.”

“No, actually I remembered your name. My daughter was in seventh year when you taught. My name is Phileas Clearwater, I’m the director of Azkaban.” Remus studied Clearwater’s face. He was looking like an honest, intelligent man, but rather melancholic.

The mark on his arm was done, his number, his new identity. He had barely felt it pierce his scarred skin.

“I’d like to say I’m pleased to meet you, Mr Clearwater,” Remus answered as he got up. The man nodded quietly, then he was led outside by the aide again, through the yard, where he got a glimpse of Snape being led into the infirmary, and finally he was brought into his cell block. It was even less pleasant.

The cell was actually rather big, almost twenty square yards, but it was completely made of stone, having a very small, very high up barred window and bars instead of a door. Remus knew from Sirius’ tales that it was for the Dementors to be able to look and reach inside, but it had also helped Sirius to slip outside in his animagus form. As the doors were closed and the aide wordlessly went away, Remus let himself fall on the straw that would be his bed.

Probably too small for the wolf, he thought with a look at the bars. He counted days, estimating that it was the third of February. Twenty-one nights until the full moon. But maybe he would wither and loose weight, just like Sirius had done, and then, one day he would slip out, another canine shadow of revenge.

No wolfsbane draught, for the first time in four years. It would be bad, very bad. How would the Dementors react to a werewolf? Would the director have him treated afterwards? At least that Clearwater was an alright man, it seemed.

Lost in those rather fatalistic contemplations, he felt a cold thing approach. A couple of dementors floated towards his cell, their skeletal arms dragging a struggling man. Snape was yelling hoarsely at them, so completely in a rage that he didn’t notice Remus as the cell door was opened and he was pushed inside. He whirled around and glared at them, even though he knew perfectly well they were blind and couldn’t care less, because they couldn’t care at all. But they noticed his presence, his fury and bitterness, and drew closer, filling the cell with their freezing darkness, until Snape stumbled backwards and fell. Slowly they edged away.

Remus watched Snape in horror.

“Double cells?” he whispered. “Since when do they have double cells?”

Snape turned around, and for a moment a look of complete dread passed over his face as he quickly got to his feet. His face was one you normally wore when you first got a look on mating flubberworms.

“Lupin,” he breathed with a derisive sneer. “I see you are just as delighted to see me as I am.” Remus shook his head, almost frantically.

“No,” he said. “No, Severus, you don’t understand!”

“Are you mad? Even more demented than usual?”

“You don’t get it,” he groaned. “A double cell! You’re sharing a cell with me.”

“Oh, be assured, Lupin, sharing a cell at Azkaban ranks just below sharing a cell with the gladly no longer available Mr Black on my list of worst punishments imaginable,” Snape spat. One might have wondered how he managed to get that sentence out without having to pause for breath, if the situation hadn’t been so desperate. Lupin clutched his forehead and sighed.

“I’m a werewolf, Severus,” he said softly. “Which I’m sure you haven’t forgotten for one second. In twenty-one days it’s the full moon and we don’t have a wolfsbane potion.”

Snape, already pale as a bone, went green. A very rare thing happened : he was out of words. Remus looked up at him from where he was sitting with his knees drawn close, and smiled wryly.

“Bugger,” Snape said. His bristled looks started to deflate.

“Exactly,” Remus replied.  
Back to index  
Not Everyone's Bound to Love You by Wintermute  
2 - Not Everyone's Bound to Love You

“Guards! This is murder! I want to talk to the executive officer! Instantly!” Snape had been roaring and banging against the bars like a rabid beast for a too long time, and Remus headache was getting worse with every minute. He knew he should be there too, calling for the human guards, but somehow he didn’t have the energy to do so.

“They know it, Severus,” he called out in exasperation. “They know it anyway!” Snape stopped the yelling but didn’t turn to face him.

“The director of Azkaban knows that I’m a werewolf, I’m sure of that. He even knew I was a teacher at Hogwarts, once. Actually –“. But Snape didn’t let him finish the sentence, whirling around and to continue his yelling, now at him

“Shut up! I don’t want to hear one word! Dumbledore’s going to get us out and you’ll pretend you don’t exist until he does that!” Snape had reached the state of fury normally reserved for Sirius and Harry, and he had totally lost control. With balled fists he stalked over to the opposite wall, standing a moment, then pacing back again. He looked a lot less menacing in his striped prisoners’ clothes than he did with his sweeping black cloak, but then again Remus had always failed to find him intimidating, at the back of his mind still remembering the pale scrawny boy he had been.

“Dumbledore is dead,” he said. It was only a fraction of a moment, maybe he only imagined it, but the mask of derision and bitterness fell apart to reveal insecurity and emotion for a second. Then Snape scoffed at him.

“Stop babbling nonsense. Dumbledore isn’t dead. He’s been thought dead before, he never was. Only a lunatic like you would believe the ministry’s lies.” Sometimes it was hard to ignore Snape’s constant insults, but as always he reminded himself of the hundreds of times he had not objected to James and Sirius insulting him.

“I wish I had your faith in Dumbledore, Severus, but it’s not going to help us. Dumbledore isn’t immortal. Why would he pretend his death in such a time? And why is no one in on his scheme, if it is one?”

Snape simply glared at him. Remus suppressed a smile, thinking how much Snape really resembled Sirius. Both had never managed to overcome the past, both somehow remained immature no matter how bad life dealt them, both were impulsive and insulting ... both came from less than intact pureblood families, both ... the only difference, he thought, is that Sirius had better people skills, was befriended with James and had better looks. Maybe, if Sirius had looked like Snape, their positions would have been reversed. If just the two had realised that. But maybe they had, and that knowledge had made it all worse ...

He started to lose himself in memories, mostly sad ones, in guilt and resentment, grudges he didn’t want to have, and painfully beautiful memories. He dismissed the cold he was beginning to feel in their damp cell, and when his thoughts started to turn in a darker direction, he was used to it.

Sirius is innocent. Was innocent all along. And I didn’t ...

The potion. I didn’t take the potion. There’s the moon over the hill, the bright moon ... I can’t control it, can’t keep my mind ... I’m so sorry, so sorry...

‘Your name could have been cleared, if not for me, Sirius.’

‘It doesn’t matter, Moony. Doesn’t matter. Name’s not cleared, so what? I sometimes want to rip his throat and die, that’s all ...’.

He gasped and wrapped his arms around his body, trying to get away from the bars, where a group of Dementors hovered, crowding closer to their new victims, their breath being decay, their black soulless pits sucking him inside.

No patronus without a wand. Remus had never fought a Dementor without a wand, but knew it was useless. No magic could help him. Snape was standing in the closer corner of the room, staring in to distance. Was he too in the clutch of their depression? His sallow face was strained.

I destroyed this man’s life. I didn’t say a word, I didn’t tell them off – I could have given them detention when I was a prefect. I could have, if I hadn’t been so selfish. I wanted to have friends, to keep them, even if they only kept me because I was a beast ...

Because I am a beast. They wouldn’t have liked me otherwise. I had delicious, dark secrets, they just loved it.

But I, the human me, was boring, dull, a book-worm. I ranked just below Peter in their coolness scale...

Remus thrashed to the side, to shake the memories off, banging his shoulders against the stone walls, scraping his skin through the thin prison clothes, sliding down on the ground.

Fangs and claws, hot breath ...

He could hear the wolf howl, all around him, heard him whimper. Frantically it clawed at his face, his eyes, trying to grasp the human, the man, tearing out its fur, his hair, rolling on the ground...

‘Because you know ... you being a dark creature, nothing personal – I think we shouldn’t meet so often right now. I mean, when it’s over, then of course ... but as long as You-know-who is still ..’.

‘It’s a muggle gun, Mr Lupin. Do you know how to handle one? And these are silver bullets. The werewolf registry advises you to always keep it with you. Just in case...’

“Clear your demented mind, Lupin, or we’ll never get them off our backs!” A harsh kick in the rips brought Remus back to reality and back to Snape.

“Don’t have an inch of human reason left? Clear your mind, Lupin!” Snape hissed at him. Remus tried to sit up, and to his great astonishment managed to do so. Long years, since his early childhood, he had trained his self-restraint and discipline. No violence, no indulgence, no drugs, no falling in love. He had kept the beast down even when it hadn’t been there.

He could do this, he could clear his mind and shut it from the Dementors. He could manage to think of nothing. His breath became even, the cold vanished. Inch by inch the Dementors retreated, leaving them finally alone.

“Thank you,” he breathed.

“Well, that shows how truly overrated Harry Potter really is,” Snape answered in a snide voice. “Even a deranged werewolf manages to keep his mind in control better than him.”

“It is a physical condition,” Remus answered softly, not managing to bring up much anger yet. “Not a mental one.” Snape snorted.

“Rubbish. It’s in the books, and even better, it’s in your face. You’re rotten from inside. At least the School board seemed to agree with me.”

The day was short at Azkaban. Already the little light that had penetrated through the barred hole that was their window disappeared. Shadows got real, and the cold got worse. Lupin chuckled into the stretching silence, and his breath formed into icy little clouds.

“Do you know why I never react much to your insults, Severus?”

“I know a whole bunch of reasons, Lupin. First : you’re just as big-headed as the other three of you. Second, you’re a sissy and don’t dare to destroy the illusion of a tame beast you so desperately cling to. And of course you’re much too far gone to realise everything I say is true.”

“No that’s not it. It’s because I don’t think you yourself believe in what you say. You hate me because of what James and Sirius did, because I witnessed it. You hate me because of old grudges, not because of who or what I am. You’re only using the werewolf argument to get me where it hurts.”

“You’re quite wrong,” Snape spat back. It was almost as if they were having a real conversation. “Even if you weren’t a werewolf and I had never met you before, I wouldn’t like you. Sad news to you, Lupin : Not everyone’s bound to love self-piteous bootlicking nancies like you’re one.”

“That’s something else,” Remus said with a suddenly tight voice. They fell quiet once more while the shadows grew stronger.  
Back to index  
Plotting by Wintermute  
Plotting

When you were completely silent, you could listen to Azkaban’s own sounds. There was the distant crashing of cold waves against the rocks of the island. The smell of foam and salt crept up the stone walls like a fog of tears. There also was, now and then, a groaning or whimpering, like the sounds of giant bowels. It was barely imaginable that these were people ...

How did he do it? Remus wondered. Sirius had spent almost thirteen years in this place, and still there had been something left of him. He looked down at the parts of himself he could see: his bruised hands, the fresh tattoos on his arm. Sirius had had them on his chest and neck, looking by far more painful. Had the guards done it on purpose, in the heat of Voldemort’s defeat, rejoicing in the victory over the supposed Death Eater? Had Sirius ever protested? He hadn’t seen him after his imprisonment, and had ever since felt guilty about that. He only remembered the photos, Sirius laughing and struggling with the dully gleaming eyes of a madman. He had looked like a stranger and Remus had decided that this was what he would be: a stranger, a man who had deceived their hearts completely.

His thoughts wandered back to their own situation. Azkaban had changed. There were less Dementors now, for half of them had changed sides. What a terrible weapon at Voldemort’s hand. But there were more and more convicts, so many that they had to share cells now. Not real Death Eaters, for they escaped quickly these days. How long had Lucius Malfoy been in prison? Two weeks? But people who committed minor crimes out of the hope that they would somehow be less of a target if they did evil things. How absurd. His shoes, for the first time he noticed that there were no laces on them. No escape for us, he thought bitterly, in any form.

But surely you could do it. You could tempt the Dementors, for example, and let them take your soul. Yet, who would want that? Then rather take off all clothes and freeze to death, or starve yourself. If he died, Snape would live. If he lived to see the next full moon, Snape would die and he would surely be executed.

The clank of metal brought him back from that mental journey. Someone was coming. It was the wordless aide, carrying the keys and a floating tray with food. Stacked under his arm he carried dirty blankets. Snape jumped to his feet before the man even arrived at their cell.

“I need to talk to the director of this place! Are you listening, squib? I need to talk to him! Instantly!”

The man threw him a deadened look and pushed two plates with a badly smelling gruel and the blankets through the bars. He went on, stiff movements like a zombie. Was he a simpleton, a mute man maybe? Or was that only the prolonged stay at Azkaban which had made him be like that? But Snape hadn’t given up yet.

“I haven’t been sentenced to death, you fool! This man is a werewolf! A werewolf, do you get it? He’ll rip me apart, come the next full moon! I want the director!”

Remus got up, snatched one of the blankets and one plate with food. How he craved a bar of chocolate, or better even, a mug of steaming hot chocolate and cream, right now. He went back to his side of the cell, wrapping the blanket around himself. Finally Snape stopped his yelling, grabbed the other blanket but didn’t give his gruel a second look. Remus examined his. It was grey, smelled moldy, and had thick chunks of something unidentifiable in it. He grimaced. There was no way you could even pretend it was something tasteful.

“A cup of tea and a bar of chocolate,” he sighed under his breath. Snape smirked.

“I thought you would rather go for the raw meat.” Remus rolled his eyes in exasperation while tasting the gruel.

“Please, Severus, at least drop the silly clich�s if you can’t drop the insulting.”

He forced himself to eat, then put the plate away and tried, just for passing time, to scratch at the ground with his spoon. Greenish dirt came away, but nothing else. Then he examined his blanket. It was felt, unfit to build ropes, but warming at least.

“This is going to be the most spectacular jailbreak ever, if we’re going to make it. Twenty-one days time, the most notorious wizard prison ever and no help from outside,” he mused with a smile.

“But we aren’t going to make it.” It was so gloomy now that they could barely see each other, and it took away some of the edge in their voices, too. Snape spoke in his smooth, cold voice now, tired of arguing but also tired of his company.

“It’ll be kind of hard,” Remus agreed. He wasn’t actually a very hopeful person, but he didn’t give up easily, either. “If only we had enough time. We could learn to become animagi, I know how it’s done, I’ve watched it ... “.

“Stop dreaming, Lupin. I dropped Transfiguration after fifth year.” Remus grinned, knowing he was safe to do so in the darkness.

“Right, you were worst of our class, even though Minerva liked you more than Peter, or me, or James and Sirius, for that matter, at least most of the time.”

“Liar.”

“I’m not lying. She told me so.” Snape didn’t answer.

“I never tried to learn it, because I feared my Animagus form would be – well you know, the wolf. No good there.”

“Give it up, Lupin. There’s no way we will escape this cell on our own. But we’ll get to the authorities, I’ll make sure of that.”

“But what if the authorities don’t care? It was a conspiracy from the beginning on, and they know about me. For them I’m a second class human, if human at all. Regulus Black also knows about me. He managed to get us jailed, why shouldn’t he also try to get us killed in such a convenient way?”

It was the first time one of them mentioned their reason for being here : Regulus Black, the recently re-appeared, long missing brother of Sirius Black. It had all happened during the summer after Sirius’ death and the following school term.

Regulus Black had reappeared, a few years younger than Sirius and looking almost like him, except his hair was fairer and his eyes had a strange color. There was a highly improbable, but also highly proven story behind his reappearance. He had not, as everyone thought, been killed by Death Eaters.

He had vanished some years before the death of the Potters, and was presumed dead. But what really happened was this : Regulus, desperate to leave the Death Eaters, comes running to the only person he can think of, Sirius. Sirius, though unconvinced, brings him to Dumbledore. And the old man tries what he would later again try with Snape. He made him a spy for the order, in exchange promising him protection. But Regulus, unskilled in Occlumency, is discovered by Voldemort. He realizes this and thinks his last hour has come. He tells his brother, and Sirius - in an act oft uncharacteristic forgiveness and mercy - comes up with a hilarious rescue plan.

They drive to a muggle zoo (the best place they can think of to get a big animal body inside of London) , stupefy an animal, which happens to be a lion, Sirius transfigures his brother into the lion and the beast into Regulus. They hide close by, until the lion wakes up. The poor beast, in his human form, is immensely confused, staggering around and growling and mewling. Not much later, the Death Eater killing squadron pops up, because Regulus’ dark mark is near by, they see the lion-man and kill him, leaving the body in plain view for everyone to see. But in fact they have only killed a zoo lion. Regulus, in need for a hiding, is left at the zoo (actually this was a prank by Sirius). He promises to fetch him and turn him human again once he is out of danger.

Not much later, Sirius is convicted, and nobody else knows of the enchanted lion-wizard in the London zoo. Only fifteen years later, when his older brother dies, the charm wears off and Regulus Black can finally walk out of the lion cage (though a lion injures his left leg).

And he reappears in Number 12, Grimmauld Place, and reclaims his property, just in time to save it from the Malfoys. Everyone is confused, but glad. He joins the order, wins the sympathy of Harry Potter (who sees much of Sirius in him). He proves his story to Dumbledore and his name is cleared easily, now that Dumbledore’s influence at the Ministry is big again. But of course, he is in danger, from his old buddies, the Death Eaters. And so he seeks refuge at Hogwarts, as the new Defense teacher. Soon, he is everybody’s darling.

The only ones who are suspicious, are, ironically, Remus Lupin and Severus Snape. Lupin, because the Regulus Black he remembers from school days is a pathetic, untalented little snob and not at all like this man. And Snape, because he simply hates the guy. There are a hundred-and-one reasons for Snape to hate him, or so he feels. And then Dumbledore vanishes off the spot. Big chaos, Potter in danger, Voldemort cackles with glee.

And just some nights ago, Remus and Severus find themselves called to a secret order meeting, something only Dumbledore and Fawkes can do. They hopefully Apparate to the meeting place, only to be confronted with two men in Death Eater robes. They fight, the Death Eaters are killed a lot to easily, and suddenly the place is full of Aurors, and the dead Death Eaters are harmless muggles. The next thing Remus remembers is being hit by stunning spells several times. And that’s it. Next thing he knows, he’s on a boat to Azkaban. Now, who’s the most suspicious guy? Regulus Black.

“But that hilarious Black couldn’t kill Dumbledore,” Snape insisted. “He is even more inept than his brother.”

“He certainly couldn’t when I knew him in school ... no one could do that. Not even Voldemort, not in direct confrontation. But what if he tricked him? Dumbledore trusted him, everyone does,” Remus sadly admitted. And the more they trusted Regulus, the less they trusted him, it seemed. It had felt terrible, those last months, almost like before, when the other marauders started to distrust him during Voldemort’s first rise.

“And he couldn’t just kill us, that would be highly suspicious. So he makes it look like we’re traitors, murderers, and then I conveniently kill you while in Azkaban.” Snape said nothing and Lupin took it as a way of agreement. Another long silence stretched between them.

“Well, the ground is solid stone, so no tunnel digging. We haven’t got sacrificing mothers or fathers, so we’ll not pull a Barty Crouch Jr. There is no ventilation system, either.”

“And we don’t have any dying monks available to switch clothes,” Snape added quietly. It was the first constructive thing he had said since they arrived, and Remus laughed.

“You read Muggle literature?” he asked. “That’s funny.”

“You’re quite the hypocrite when it comes to clich�s, Lupin. How Gryffindor,” Snape smoothly answered. Again Remus chuckled.

“That’s not what I wanted to say. It’s just that the ‘Count of Monte Christo’ was one of Sirius’ favourite books. The only Muggle book he got into his hands in his childhood.”

“Adventure novels. Surprising that he read at all.” admit

“He didn’t read a lot,” Remus conceded. “But speaking of that book ... we do have an advantage to all those people who didn't manage to break out of Azkaban : we’re two in a cell. Probably because of the many people Fudge has arrested – Azkaban is getting to small. And half of the Dementors have changed sides.” Why only half of them was a bit of a riddle, but he was almost sure that Dumbledore knew why. There had been hints before, that Dumbledore knows more about Dementors than other people, and Remus dimly remembered having heard of him being mentioned in the context of the first appearance of Dementors roughly fifty years ago. Because Dementors haven’t just always been here at Azkaban, they only appeared around that time, after the muggle war.

“Didn’t we already agree that sharing a cell is our main disadvantage? Hell, sharing anything with you would be.”

“But we could pull some kind of plot, like the Count, or something else. Come on, put your clever mind to it, our heads are all we have, right now.” Remus himself was turning his brain upside down, but nothing came of it. He was never good at solving riddles or coming up with schemes. That had been a specialty of Messrs. Padfoot and Prongs. Maybe it was time to see if Snape was brilliant in other areas besides potions brewing.

“Even if we managed to get out of this cell, we would have to get past the Dementors. And past the sea.”

“Sirius swam all the way. And he wasn’t nearly as healthy as we are.”

“But he was a mutt at the time and pretty much fanatic, or am I wrong?”

Remus sighed. Snape seemed unwilling to plot, or was also lacking imagination. It was bitterly cold by now, and he longed to curl up in a real bed. Why didn’t he feel angry? Deceived, at least, or treated badly? Sirius had survived all those years sustained by his burning hunger for revenge, and here he was, also innocent, also put into Azkaban without trial, having to share his cell with the probably least co-operative person he knew, and yet he was only feeling extremely uncomfortable.

Sirius would say I just lack the fire for burning revenge, he reckoned, huddling deeper into his blanket. The straw was a pathetic excuse for a bedding, on some places it didn’t even cover the stone ground. The barred hole by the top of the wall threw a greenish square of light on the bars, so faint it was probably invisible for human eyes. Azkaban smelled terribly, and now that he was no longer distracted, the stench assaulted his preternatural nose with vicious power. Fear was the overriding note, but more direct were all kinds of bodily smells, sweat, urine, excrements, illness, decay. And the biting salt of the sea, the damp stone, the faint smell of human ashes from the yard ... a cocktail of terror, sweetened with madness.

The bile rose in his stomach, and before he could even think about it he had jumped from where he lay and was clutching the bars of their cell, violently throwing up. Hanging on the iron bars, his body seemed to turn inside out. All the gruel and a bit of black blood hit the stones, adding to the horrible smell. He shivered, leaning his head against the cool metal. Straw and hairs clung to his damp face. The darkness had no words for him. He bit his lip and closed his eyes. Then crawled back to his blanket, wrapping it around his body in a lonely hug.

 

Note : "The Count of Monte Christo" is a novel by Alexandre Dumas and also a kind of clich� in fandom concerning Sirius. The Count is living as a prisoner on the dreary island of Monte Christo for long years due to a mean plot against him, and finally manages to flee when he changes places with the corpse of a dead monk that is shipped away from the island. He then takes bitter revenge (a large bit of this story obviously went into Sirius history, but was also used for Barty Crouch Jr.'s story by JKR). I think that Remus likes books (do you know shoebox project or lady jaidas works? ;)) and that Snape is a very lonely man which too much free time who probably reads a book once in a while, too.  
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Selfless People by Wintermute  
4 - Selfless People

The night was spent in cold and worry, and the occasional passing of a Dementor. Like hints of nightmares passing by the edges of your consciousness, they caused an obscure fear of falling asleep. Remus had the feeling he didn’t sleep at all, but then he woke the next morning, aching everywhere in his body. While he was still miserably laying on the ground, the mute aide came again, fetching the food from last night and bringing new one, as well as water in a bucket and two cups.

Lupin assessed their new belongings: a bucket of water, another empty bucket which was probably the Azkaban version of a toilet, two cups, two dishes, two spoons; two felt blankets, their clothes, a lot a straw and their boots. That just didn’t make an escape.

“Good morning,” he said with a deliberate amount of politeness, when Snape finally moved to fetch a cup of water and drank it. Snape merely answered with a scowl.

Time went by like months, as they watched the sunlight move outside their tiny window slit. They sometimes got up, stretching their limbs, pacing a few steps, careful not to intrude their personal spaces. It was like living in the same room with a mute ghost – you see him, but he doesn’t seem to see you, you hear him, but he won’t answer, you are two and yet alone. It was probably the most boring day both had spent in a long, long time. Evening came, and with it new gruel. The aide also emptied the second bucket, which they had both had to use some time, looking away in embarrassment. This was a level of intimacy neither wanted to share with anyone, much less each other.

Finally, darkness came again and with it the cold and the damp. Snape also ate his gruel, the first time he touched the prison food. He must be really hungry by now, Remus thought. Strange, how he has enough discipline for that, enough discipline to fool the Dark Lord, but can’t keep his temper at all when confronted with Sirius, or Harry.

“I’ve thought about something. There is the director of this prison; he seems to be a reasonable man. I might try and talk to him, if just we could get his attention. I think he would consider putting us into different cells.”

Snape stared at his plate, chewing, a dark air about him. “Why even care, Lupin? So that we would rot in different cells, until the miserable end of our wretched lives? There’s no way we’re getting out of here, not without a strong ally from outside. We’ll wait until the full moon, talk as little as possible, you’ll rip my throat out and eat me and then, if you’re lucky, they’ll have mercy and shoot you.”

Remus put his plate down with more force than intended. He resisted the urge to go at Snape’s throat right here and now, and instead he jumped to his feet and started to pace.

“No! We won’t do that. That would be too ... I haven’t lived all my life ... Why did you go on then, all the time, if you’re just willing to give up now?” He sounded like a stammering fool. “Your life was less than pleasant and I know it! Why did you still try? Why didn’t you just succumb to Voldemort or let yourself be killed? Why did you become a spy? Why so much effort and now just throw it away?”

“You wouldn’t know. You never had to fight for anything.”

“Oh? Really?” Lupin’s voice was shaking. How could that man be so horrible? So incredibly thick and stubborn?

“Now I’ll be getting the ‘poor misunderstood creature’ show, right? Shut up,” Snape spat.

“But I won’t. Now listen, Snape. I won’t talk about how it is to be a werewolf, because you couldn’t possibly understand, and because I think you’re right, it is totally undignified and out of question. It’s fate and I’ve accepted it. But I won’t keep quiet about the rest. Do you know how it is when everybody distrusts you? When everybody turns away, pretends not to know you? Yes, I think you do. When everything you do is barely good enough? When you’re alone for years and years on end, and you just know it will always be like that, until the end of your life, because a person like you couldn’t possibly have real friends, or heaven forbid, real lovers? I think you do. Have you never questioned your reasons for going on?”

He had never spoken so honestly about his feelings to anyone and felt embarrassment well up inside him, and guilt. It was wrong to complain. Totally wrong. He had to go on quickly, or he never would finish this.

“When I turned legal, the werewolf registry handed me a muggle gun with silver bullets. Just in case, you know. Just in case I should feel the call of the dark side should get to strong. I probably should have felt insulted and thrown it away, but I didn’t. I kept it, all those years. But there still are all those bullets, not one has been used. And do you know why? There are some people who have risked their lives and their careers to grant me a live as normal as possible. It would just have been ungrateful to throw it away. I will fight until my last, Snape.”

He didn’t know what he expected Snape to do or say, but the gloomy laughter from his side of the cell was not it.

“A muggle gun. Very thoughtful. Should have handed them to my generation of Slytherin’s, just in case they felt the call of the dark side getting too strong,” he said sarcastically. Remus didn’t know what to say. He had just spilled his heart to Severus Snape, in a way, felt nervous and stupid, and his hands were shaking maniacally. And Snape had just made a joke. He laughed, probably sounding completely deranged.

He sat down again and huddled in his felt blanket, because it was getting colder. He could hear distant groaning from the cells one floor down of theirs, and reckoned that the Dementors were coming closer. Maybe their laughter had attracted them.

But do I really believe what I just told him? He asked himself. Wasn’t it that in reality, those people who helped you and supported you only did it for themselves? They did it to satisfy their conscience, to live up to their personal standards, to be moral and just ... they did selfless things for selfish reasons ... would they, if he had put the muggle gun to use, really have mourned? Wouldn’t they, instead, have been sad about their personal failure to be good enough to save him? Would their pity for him not have been self-pity?

The world became a grey, frayed edge around the Dementors, a torn flag waving slackly in their frosty wake. But something remained there, a stubborn refusal to see the world so darkly...

“Yesterday,” he asked quickly, “You seemed quite unaffected by the Dementors. How do you do it?” Snape took a moment to answer, and Remus feared he would just deny any kind of help, but then Snape replied with a low voice.

“Occlumency. It keeps them at bay until a certain measure. At least the more conscious part of your fears and emotions.”

“Would you teach me?”

“You won’t learn it, not in less than a month’s time.” Well, at least it wasn’t just plain ‘no’.

“It’s not as if we’ve got anything better to do,” Remus answered through clenched teeth, because he had to keep them from chattering. He could hear their rattling breath now, their sweeping clothes, could see them gather in front of their cell, hungry, greedy. A skeletal hand grabbed the air between the rusty bars, blindly reaching out for its prey.

“Clear your mind,” Snape’s voice came hollowly out of the dark. “Get rid of your emotions. Lock them away. Your mind must contain not so much as a dust particle of thought.” It sounded like a mantra, and Lupin tried to make it his own. Clear your mind...

Remus imagined his mind a barren sky, locked with grey metal doors and heavy locks, nothing could penetrate the doors and nothing was there to be penetrated. He eased into the cold around him and invited it inside, where it should replace the moon and the memories...

But it was hard. It was hard to clear your mind if the presence of the Dementors brought back the worst of memories and feelings your mind had to offer. He groaned and felt his mind would snap soon under the unusual strain.

“Try harder!” Snape hissed angrily and then fell silent again to get a hold of his own emotions again. How could a man with zero patience ever survive being a teacher? Lupin thought and immediately started to wallow in memories of being fired after the discovery of his lycanthropy. The only thing he’d ever loved to do, genuinely loved...

“Actually, you are worse than Potter,” came the comment from across the cell.

Harry. Harry who hated him, now that surely he believed him to be a murderer. He had failed to keep his trust ... just like he had failed Sirius and James and Lily ...

“Sometimes I think you actually love to suffer.”

Remus fell forward, gripping his head and screaming in terror. His throat was tight and hot, the rest of his body frozen. He desperately wanted his mind to just go away, to shut off, to succumb to the madness, just so this pain would cease.

And with a last desperate roar, his mind complied. It curled into a tight, shivering ball somewhere at the back of his head and closed its eyes. And the beast raised its head, snarling and fearful, edging away from the unknown creatures that were threatening it. Through a haze of red hot panic Remus saw it thrashing against the wall, clawing at the stones, ripping at its clothes, keening and whimpering. Then, suddenly, the behavior changed, and the wolf decided that his last defense lay in attack – and flung itself against the bars and the Dementors behind it. He almost didn’t notice Snape, a flash of darkness at his side and then a dull black pain in his head...

The pain was still there, but it was rather huge and throbbing. And not at all dull. He lay at an awkward angle on the straw, and some of the straw was in his mouth as well. He felt disoriented and realized that he had been out cold for a while.

“Snape?” he rasped.

“Careful, there. I’ve still got the dish.”

“Dish?” Remus wondered.

“The one that recently became closely acquainted with your shabby head, Lupin.”

“Oh, that one.” He felt for his head and quickly redrew his hand. “I didn’t think you could be quite so violent... in a physical way, I mean.”

“You, on the other hand, met my expectations quite well. Don’t ever talk to me about how much control you’ve got over your inner beast again!” It was the Dementors; Remus would have liked to defend himself, but knew it was quite futile.

“I think you were right about learning Occlumency. I’m not the right person for this kind of thing ... too much living in the past to withstand Dementors.”

“You’re self-piteous and sentimental.”

“Maybe,” Remus answered tiredly. “Maybe that’s true.” Snape made a disgusted sound.

“And you don’t even protest! How pathetic is that?”

“It’s not pathetic. I’m not Harry or Sirius or James. I don’t think that arguing with you has any point – your tongue will always be sharper than mine and your convictions more stubborn.”

He rolled over to wrap himself in the blanket. He was tired of arguing. He liked sensible, constructive conversation. He liked a minimum of politeness. He liked beds, too, but none of these were granted to him right now.

What if Snape would have caused real damage to his head? What if he had been seriously injured? Would any help have come? Remus suddenly startled and sat up.

“Ow! Severus, I’ve got it! I’ve got a plan!” A very articulate silence met his enthusiasm.

“You just knocked me out, right. How long did I stay unconscious?”

“About ten minutes?” Snape answered in a doubtful voice, as if he thought ten minutes had been way too short for his liking.

“Very well. My health may not be the best, but I’m healing a lot more quickly than other people. Especially near the full moon, but also now.”

“I know that.”

“Yes, but does that prison officer who brings our food know it? No. If he thought I was dead, or seriously injured, wouldn’t he come inside?”

“That plan is older than Dumbledore’s beard,” Snape groaned.

“Yes, sure, if it only was a simple bluff. But what if he could plainly see that I was really injured? What if I, say, lost a lot of blood?”

“Maybe. But he’d probably restrain me in some manner before doing so. And where would the blood come from, anyway?”

“Me, of course. And I’m counting on you being restrained. So, say, I’m injured and unconscious. He restrains you with a binding charm, opens the door, comes inside, gets me to the infirmary. But he doesn’t know I’m healing more quickly than usual. I wake up on the way to the infirmary, knock him out, take his wand, get you out of the cell, we flee. Once we’re away from Azkaban, we can Apparate wherever we want and have more time.”

“That plan is least original thing I’ve ever heard.”

“The oldest tricks are still the best.”

“Well, the worst that could happen is that you accidentally die. Fair game.” Remus nodded grimly.

“If I die, you live. And you will do everything to get out of here and warn them about that bastard Regulus.”

“It won’t work.”

“There are no alternatives, or do you know any?”

“How will you inflict the injury upon yourself? Carve a spoon into your arm? Bang a cup on your forehead until you bleed?” The headache had completely vanished, and right now Remus’ mind was as clear and focused as never before.

“It may seem ridiculous to remind you, Severus, but I’m a dangerous beast. Teeth and claws, that’s the answer. Teeth and claws.” And he could clearly sense that Snape was too speechless to express how completely mad he found that plan. Remus silently agreed with him.  
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Regulus Black by Wintermute  
Note: Thank you all for your many and nice reviews! A few people doubted that Harry would just let Remus and Snape go to Azkaban, and while they're right on that, the situation is a little more difficult! First of all, Harry is without Dumbledore or any powerful ally at the moment. Fudge is panicked in more than one way, and people like Moody and Shacklebolt believe that the two are guilty. Then Harry has always distrusted Snape, and now Remus has killed a number of Muggles together with Snape (by accident, but Harry doesn't know that.) And also, as Remus suspects, Harry's feelings towards them aren't entirely natural at the moment ...

 

5 Regulus Black

Now that he had a plan, Remus felt much better. He knew from experience with the marauders that a good plan is the strongest weapon but also the most dangerous weakness – if plan is too tightly set and too inflexible. So he didn’t spend much time on the details. He would wait a few days from now, because the closer he got to the full moon, the better. He wouldn’t risk waiting until the very last moment, in case the plan went wrong.

“Are you a good swimmer?” That was important : Snape didn’t look like someone who enjoyed swimming, or any kind of water or physical exercise. He was reasonably fit for someone who works as a spy, but mostly relied on magic. Remus himself would have been horrible at any kind of sport if he hadn’t been a werewolf.

“I can swim. Probably faster than any kind of mutt.”

“It’s not actually very far, but extremely cold, I’ve been told. I’m not sure whether we should flee in the morning or in the evening, though. Darkness would be an advantage, but it’s even colder in the night.”

“If we had a wand – and without one it will hardly work - the cold is not a problem. You can do a warming charm, or can’t you?”

Remus grinned. “I think I remember them. I spent some time in Romania, during the winter.”

“Hunting vampires? How original.”

“No, I couldn’t afford such a holiday. It was a job, a rich French gentleman who was badly afraid of being bitten by a vampire but wanted some kind of investigation down there – it had to do with a family treasure. In the end the treasure proved to be nothing but a necklace with a fake ruby and he was extremely displeased with the whole matter. But at least he had already paid my expenses. Have you ever been to Romania?”

“The Lestrages have a rotten little castle up in Transylvania. It was one of the most frequented Death Eater meeting points.” Remus face darkened visibly at the mention of the Lestranges.

“Oh, so you know them well.”

“You can kill her,” Snape answered casually, but with a kind of sadistic gleam in his black eyes. “She is the only person who is even more annoying than her cousin and the whole Potter family together. And by the way, you are also invited to kill Pettigrew.”

“How smartly you figured out my list of people to take revenge on, Severus,” Lupin answered sweetly. His expression matched Snape’s in deadliness. “How is Peter doing, by the way?”

Finally they had found a topic to warm themselves on. They both hated those two people with a vicious passion. Snape despised Peter Pettigrew simply because he had been a marauder, but recently this hate had increased beyond imagination because every time he met Voldemort’s disgusting servant he found him even less agreeable. Peter Pettigrew was simply the single most pathetic and repellent person he ever had known. Bellatrix Lestrange had always been a little annoying in her own way, but had become a complete lunatic after the years in Azkaban. She was the most unnerving Death Eater with her constant manic ranting and babbling and baby-talking, like a mad, overgrown gothic doll, sickly-sweet and foul and also extremely dangerous : she never hid her suspicions about him.

“He has become the Dark Lord’s shadow. It shows how low He has sunk, keeping a person like Pettigrew around him. The old Dark Lord would have killed him the instant He had his full power back.”

“Why hasn’t he, then?” Snape frowned at the question.

“I haven’t concerned myself with such trivial things, Lupin.”

“Is it really trivial if Voldemort has changed in such a striking way? Or maybe Peter is still somehow important. Dumbledore warned me and Sirius to try and kill him as long as he is still close to Voldemort.”

“Peter Pettigrew has to pay off a wizard debt to Potter, that’s why Dumbledore wants him to stay alive.”

“Ah.” Realisation dawned on Remus’ face. “So that’s the reason.” He blinked at the simple beauty of it all. That merciful actions should be rewarded to Harry in such a direct way ... and also, the repetitive nature of the debt. After all, Peter hadn’t been the first to become indebted to a Potter in the Shrieking Shack. Maybe, there still was some hope. Maybe there weren’t only the forces of evil working in the background.

“A life can only be paid with a life,” Snape added grimly. “He can hurt and endanger Potter, but he can never kill him – and in the End he will die to help him, if not save him.”

The rest of the day and the following night went by in the same routine as before, making it the fourth day. Twenty-one minus four, that made seventeen. And on the seventeenth night, the moon would rise and their fate would be decided by where they were at the time.

They already started to change. Snape looked greasier than ever, but Remus probably wasn’t any better. Both were growing a stubble. Remus’ hair was growing a lot faster, it always did. Thankfully it was hard to smell themselves with all the foulness around them, but still, Remus had come accustomed to Snape’s smell in the same way he had known others before – intimately, shamelessly.

And as they themselves became less civilised, their behaviour changed, too. Reserves were dropped. They sat less stiffly, talked less cautiously. They probably would have become able to sleep comfortably in each others presence, if it had been possible to sleep comfortably at Azkaban. It was a little like taming a wild, mistrustful little animal, they weren’t quite in the petting-and-purring stage yet, but had left the hiding-in-the-corner-and-hissing stage. Remus doubted very much that it would ever come to petting and purring, but maybe they could get used to living peacefully next to each other.

On the evening of the fourth day, Remus felt a cold coming up to him. His strained health was always a problem, now more so than ever. His eyes were burning and his throat raw. During the night, he started to sniffle and sneeze, and in the morning it was clear that he was a little feverish.

“You’re looking bad,” Snape observed over their morning gruel. “More so than usual.”

“Cold,” Remus rasped. He wasn’t hungry. Huddling in the blankets, he shivered. He watched Snape eating, his spoon moving from the plate to his mouth, and his eyes felt hot and dull. The cold crept over them and into his clothes, biting at his skin. He sneezed once more. His eyes wandered to the blanket that Snape had folded and put away.

“May I have your blanket?” he asked after minute. Snape put down his spoon and looked up at him. It was a strange look out of dark eyes, and Remus felt helpless. But, damn, he was cold. It was normal to ask for the blanket, even if it belonged to Snape. But Snape only looked at the folded blanket and then back at him. He put the plate on the ground with deliberate slowness.

“Girl,” he growled and tossed him the blanket. And Remus felt ridiculously grateful where he should have felt insulted and wrapped it around himself with a dizzy smile on his face.

But about noon, something unusual happened. The mute aide came back, something he never did until the evening, when he brought their food, and with him came another man. It was a lean man wrapped in expensive honey and ginger-brown coloured robes and a leather cloak, with a short mane of dark brown and grey-streaked hair and a slight limp. He had blue eyes which would gleam golden in the right light, and then look feral and sly. He wasn’t very tall, just like Sirius had been, but his presence made up for it. It was Regulus Black.

Snape, who had been standing by the wall, froze. Remus wanted to get up, to face their enemy standing, but didn’t feel up to it. Regulus limped up to their cell, gazing coolly at them. Then he imperiously waved his hand at the aide.

“I’d like to talk to them, alone.” The man nodded and shuffled away. Regulus took in their cell with a disdainful smile. It was a miracle to Remus how the man could ever appear charming to anyone, but obviously he had deceived not only Harry and his friends, but also Dumbledore. Yet, how was that possible?

“Nice room. And nicer even in this lovely company, I guess,” he drawled. Like Sirius, he had a low voice, but you’d rather expect a purr than a bark from him.

“I see you’ve come to gloat at us –“ Severus began, but was cut off by the younger Black.

“But you, Remus, look a little off. Is it the food, maybe? Or the climate? I’m sure your hosts will do everything to accommodate you. Given that your stay will be rather short, and all that.” He smiled, showing too many sharp teeth. Then he took out his wand.

“I don’t like to see you that way, though. I’d rather be assured that you’ll be healthy and strong, you know what I mean? Strong enough to kill.” He made a flick and stab motion and muttered a healing spell at Remus. But his eyes were focused on Snape, and he still smiled.

“And you, Severus, should eat properly. You ought to provide a tasteful meal, it’ll be his first kill, won’t it, Remus?”

“How did you do it?” The potions master hissed angrily. “How did you overpower Dumbledore?” Regulus blinked lazily, showing his teeth again. Remus, who felt the cold vanish and his head get clearer, forced himself to remain silent. Let him talk, the fraud, he thought. Maybe he’ll say something that will reveal him, maybe he’ll become careless in his triumph.

“I must say, you’re not making much sense, Severus.” Regulus snapped his fingers at them and turned to leave. Remus was almost sure now that magic was involved. Regulus hadn’t just charmed their friends with his good looks and sweet talk. He had done something else, something sly and sinister, to deceive them. Maybe they all were under his spell! But how powerful a spell must that be, if it wasn’t even noticed by Dumbledore? But then again, hadn’t Dumbledore also been deceived by Quirrel and Barty Crouch Jr. ... Dumbledore wasn’t infallible, and Harry was loyal, but still so very young.

“Have a nice time. And, ah, good appetite!” With that the false Black limped down the corridor, chuckling in the distance. Snape made a strange, crunching sound with his teeth. Then the suddenly whipped around, a wild look in his eyes.

“Your plan,” he snapped, “will succeed, because I swear, I will find that man and rip his ugly head off and drink his blood and it will be a damn tasteful meal!” For a second he shocked Remus by stalking over to the wall and hitting it with his fist only feet away from Remus’ head. He quickly got up and brought some distance between them. Luckily, his cold was completely gone.

“Calm down, Snape. Escape now, revenge later. And I’ve also got something to say in the head ripping affair. You’ll leave me my half of him, and I might just break my habit of not doing harm to humans.”

And so, Regulus Black got added to their common list of people to hunt down and kill in most imaginative ways.  
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Teeth and Claws by Wintermute  
6 Teeth and Claws

They decided to stage the escape on the morning of the seventh day, which was almost exactly in between two full moons, and though this wasn’t the time Remus was usually his strongest, it was the time when he was the most healthy and energetic. They decided to leave everything beside their robes at Azkaban, even their shoes. All they would take with them was the wand they hoped to get when Remus would overwhelm the aide.

During the sixth day, Snape tried legilimency on the aide, to find out more about him and possible escape routes. Their suspicion that the man was mute proved true, and as Snape relegated to Remus, he was ‘barely more than a squib and a drop-out from Hogwarts, too’. In Snape’s mind, this made him something close to a simpleton.

“What do you think? Will he come inside and bring me to the infirmary?” Remus asked. Snape pursed his lips.

“He would be thick enough to buy the bluff – but I have doubts concerning his care for prisoners. Maybe he’ll leave you lying there until he comes to fetch the dirt in the evening,” Snape answered with a malicious undertone. Remus chuckled. He had found a perfect way to tolerate Snape : take all his snark and sarcasm as some kind of very black humour, and you could actually laugh about it – most of the time, when it didn’t get too personal.

But there was also something else, that made it easier to live with the man. For with each day spent in their cell, Snape lost some of his coldness and remoteness. He didn’t lose his arrogance, or his aggressiveness, but he seemed to become more human. Able to actually be in a somewhat lighter mood, if only for seconds at a time. Able to talk about other things than hate and old grudges and the contempt he held for the rest of the world.

Once, he talked with actual enthusiasm about a potions project he had been working on, and another time they had a very sensible and enlightening conversation (it lasted about five sentences) about teaching. Actually, Remus found out, there were some students that Snape hated less than others, and some things he liked to teach them. Snape seemed to like being appreciated, but by setting far too high standard, he was more often than not disappointed by his students.

But there were some topics that Snape would never talk about : his work as a spy, his family and his reasons for being on their side. And as these things seemed to be the core of the puzzle that Snape still presented, it was hard for Remus to understand him. It was hard bring the pieces of this man together to a fitting picture, one that made sense and wasn’t too far-fetched. How did the petty, narrow-minded teacher fit together with the intelligent, witty man he could be? How did the furtive boy immersed in the Dark Arts fit together with the spy who risked his life for Dumbledore? How could a skilled legilimens be so terribly insensitive? How could he be so passionate about revenge and so furious and spiteful – but never show any other emotion at all? How could a man see so many things in his life and still remain so superficial and childish most of the time?

On the evening of the sixth day, they ate as much as possible of the gluey substance they got from the aide, and then prepared to sleep as much as they could.

“We will take the route through the east part of the prison, and then over the graveyard, down the cliffs. From there we will swim in a south-west direction and hopefully reach the shore, where we can port-key from. But we’ll only have one wand, so we should stay together. Where will we port-key to?”

“Hogwarts, Grimmauld Place or any of the order quarters are out of question. As is any of my property,” replied Snape. “There is the Eyrie, but we don’t know who might by there.”

The Eyrie was one of Dumbledore’s properties, located in the Welsh mountainside, a small medieval castle being barely more than a spindly tower. Snape had been there before, and knew the pass words, but he wasn’t sure who else might know them.

“Do we have anybody who might help us?”

“Well, I do,” Snape said darkly, “But those people wouldn’t help you.”

“People who are not the enemy, Severus.”

“Aberforth Dumbledore,” he suggested. Remus frowned.

“Can we trust him?”

“Oh, he certainly won’t be deceived by Black’s charms, but whether he will be in the mood to help us is another question. He can be quite whimsical and even Dumbledore calls him mad.”

“Let’s go to the Eyrie first, and if somebody is there, we’ll try the Hog’s Head,” Remus decided, and bedded his head on his arm. A tiny slither of moonlight grazed the opposite wall, and Snape stood out as a stark shadow against it. Mentally, he bid his farewells to the people he loved, living and dead alike. And they took him by his hands, with their small, persuasive dream-fingers, caressing his soul, whispering to him about memories ... and while he glided in and out of sleep, he realised ... it’s all about the past ...

The morning came with a dizzy, unwilling twilight, as if the day knew a dozen places where it would rather be. They both sat up almost simultaneously, staring straight into each other’s face. Neither said a word. Remus forced his breath to become even. He forced his mind to focus, willed his reason to submit ...

He thought of the smell of earth, of old wood, of dust, of torn tapestries. The smell of barred rooms and destroyed furniture. The smell of animal.

He thought of the feeling of soft moss under soft pads. He thought of the feeling of splintering woods under sharp claws. The feeling of mud, of rain, of twigs grazing fur...

... thought of the sound of breaking bones, the sound of breathing beasts, the sound of paws on wood, of howling and whining, of barking and huffing, growling and fighting ...

Yellow eyes and grey fur ... silver light and ashen dust .. white teeth and claws ... crimson ... crimson red ...

And Snape tried to watch coldly as he shivered and stiffened and his breath became faster, as if his mind was running away too quickly, as he raised his head to an imaginary sky, baring his teeth, his human eyes rolling back into his head, the whites showing and then with a sound of violence, he tore down and sunk his teeth into his own flesh. A sound that didn’t belong there, a cracking crunch, and feeding noises of a terrible beast.

Remus plunged head first onto the ground, his jaws tight around his arm, tearing and ripping, and savouring his own blood. He rolled around in agony, groaned, hit the wall with his struggling feet, and then suddenly he couldn’t take it anymore and ripped his face away from the wounds he had inflicted upon himself.

The cell was unfocused, coloured crimson in front of his eyes, and Snape was hovering in and out of his view – a look of utter fascination on his face. Remus could feel sticky saliva and blood on his face and there was something revolting in his mouth ... he spat it out, coughing ... and at one time, his head hit the floor again, and he cloud see something small and red and a piece of white bone sticking out ... and then the ceiling fell through him and the world went painfully blank.

He was out cold during most of what happened then. At some point, the aide came, noticed one of the prisoners lying in a foetal position on the ground, pale and covered in his own blood, one of his hands still bleeding slightly. He put a restraining charm on the other prisoner, opened the cell, examined the man and found him unconscious.

He used a lifting charm to get the body out of the cell, intending to bring him to the infirmary, closed the door again and undid the restraining charm on the second man. Snape did nothing to indicate that anything was wrong, and the aide went away together with the floating and unconscious Remus Lupin. Slowly Snape left the place he had been restrained to the wall and picked up the small, bloody finger. He examined it with the look of a scientist and then put it into a small pocket inside his robes.

But by the time the aide had come – about twenty minutes after Remus had started mutilating himself – the healing process of the werewolf had already started. A werewolf has to endure a painful, bone-breaking and skin-ripping transformation each month, and heals by far more quickly than any normal man or wizard. So Remus woke up again before the man had reached the infirmary. They were going down a long corridor with no cells on the sides and few light.

The floating charm caused a strong disorientation and nausea that was already there from biting off his own finger got by far worse. But he had to act. By pure will-force he rolled around, touching the ground and giving himself a push. He dodged into an upright position, right behind the oblivious aide. But the man had senses something, and turned around, staring into the wild, blood-coated face of a man just about to knock him out. His face distorted into a toothless grimace of fear and he shrank back from Remus – but too slow. In that moment, he didn’t think about how he never had purposely, physically hurt a man before, he didn’t consider, didn’t hesitate. In that moment, he was all in the here, all in the now, all but himself. He was not Remus, he was not the wolf, he was not any kind of being -

Remus, now with ground under his feet, grabbed the man’s shoulder and head, and with harsh force flung the man against the wall. His chest deflated and he sagged down in a heap of clothes. Remus paused for breath – and reason. His existence had to gain a human quality once more. Now he had to go all the way back from wild madness, and to forget the searing pain of his severed finger. Once he was mostly under control, he checked the man’s pulse. Still there. So he wasn’t a murderer yet.

He searched for the wand and found it – a short beech-wood stick. He weighed it in his hands, and upon second thought, he bound and gagged the man with a spell. It worked after the third time, though not really perfectly, as the ropes were of a strangely purplish colour they weren’t supposed to be.

He turned away, looking around for orientation. Grey stone, few light, a corridor. Nothing he recognised. He knew a lot about the outside of Azkaban, but the inside was a riddle to him. How would he find Snape? He tentatively sniffed the air, walking back from where they had come. He came to a slippery staircase and followed his instincts, he chose to go upwards.

Here, he finally got some kind of trace. A werewolf in human form wasn’t nearly as good at sniffing out smells, not as good as, say, a simple dog, or even a wolf. Most of it was probably a figment of imagination, but he followed it anyway. And then, finally, he came to the corridor where their cell was located. Other prisoners in other cells stared at him, in uncomprehending awe, but too intimidated by the wild man with the blood all over his body, they kept quiet. He reached their cell, pointing the wand at the door.

“Finite Incantatem. Alohomora!” Snape was standing there, by the wall, a blank look on his face. without a word, he moved out of the cell, and wordlessly they ran down the corridor together, this time in the other direction – the direction that would hopefully lead them to the graveyard.

They jolted down stairs, finally reached a door. Again, it sprang open to a simple spell. Behind it, freedom send a grey smile towards them. They were looking at a sloping acre, a field of grey sand and little sharp stones, no tombs, no green, no signs of the corpses underneath the skull-coloured surface. The only flowers were some reeking slips of seaweed. It smelled faintly of ashes and salt.

The graveyard was a wide, open field with no cover, and it took a lot of courage to just step out onto it, but once they did, they just ran, stumbling down the slope until they reached the wet, tang-covered cliff. A jumble of rocks and a steep descent, shrouded in ice-cold fog. Already, Azkaban was vanishing behind them.

“Shoes,” Remus gasped. The quickly threw their shoes off the cliff and into the roiling sea, where they disappeared under layers of white foam. Remus wiped at his face, where the blood started to dry. They breathlessly headed down to the sea, now barefoot, and the stones and sand cut at their heels. It was too cold and too wet and all but hopeless. All his spirit had left Remus. He almost turned around and walked back to Azkaban when the sea finally licked at his feet with frosty waves.

“Direction?” Snape asked. Remus bit his lip to keep from faltering. He focused on the one thing that gave him strength : the image of Sirius Black, when he first saw him after the prison. Alive only by pure will-force, living only for revenge and loyalty.

“This way,” Remus said and pointed out at the sea. Right. This way. And after a terribly, tiny moment of hesitation, they both plunged into the water. The first few moments of struggling and gasping were too much a shock to be properly processed. They went by in a rush of adrenaline. When he finally realised that he was swimming in the Northern Sea, away from Azkaban, to either die in the cold, cold water or make it to freedom, they were completely alone, engulfed by mute, thick fog. Remus only saw green waves and white air and Snape, working through the water a few feet ahead of him. And he focused his eyes on that spot of skin and black, and nothing else, and just battled, battled with the sea, and the water dragging him down and the cold suffocating him and his limbs protesting and his finger hurting like it was ripped off again and again.

And at some point during that time, his mind revolved only around that pain, he lived through the pain, let it be his heartbeat, his soul, and it became more than just physical pain, it became something subtle and meaningful, the theme his life was centred around.

But his life was leaving him, was slipping out of his cold body, this corpse that had become unfit for life, and out into the sea it pulled him down like heavy lead. Again and again the water closed above his head, rushed into his ears and nose, and then again he came back to the chill air, once more seeing Snape. Yet, his energy was fading and so was his will. He longed for the deep dark sea, he longed for closing his eyes and floating ...  
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Wizard's Debt by Wintermute  
Chapter 7 : Wizard's Debt

‘I cannot tell you how I’ve done it. I wasn’t there at the time, I was elsewhere, with Harry, my lips weren’t tasting the salt or the sea, they tasted blood, and my paws were not struggling in the water, they were treading on the bones of that rat ..’

Sirius flashed through Remus’ head, a confused image, while he kicked his legs and flailed his arms, a last seizure of the muscles before they broke, strained and exhausted to become a wreckage in the sea.

I wasn’t there at the time ...

But now, Sirius was close, and so was Lily, and his mother and his Dad, a man he barely remembered, but now, clearly, their faces under the waves, silently, palely waiting for him, seaweed their hair, flowing weightlessly, whispering to him ...

And so did he, he floated, sunk, all the strain and the ache and the sorrow was leaving him, dissolved in the eternal calm of the water. He longed to be with them, with the people he loved. But as he reached for them, they turned away, closing their dark eyes and falling silent. The dark water became a cold grave, pressing the life out of his body. He screamed, his lungs filling with water. And suddenly Remus struggled and kicked until his head was in the air once more.

Salty water burned in his eyes and throat, and he was almost blinded by it ... where was Snape? He didn't see that black head of his anymore, nor heard he any sound of swimming. Struggling, treading water, he looked around him, in the mountains and valley of waves and the endless fog. He was still gasping and coughing.

He dived back into the water, head first, prying his eyes open in the vast green sea, trying to find him. And there, wasn’t that a darker shadow, a body floating downwards? Remus swam, suddenly powerful again, stretching his arms for the black shock of hair, the striped collar. Finally, his fingers closed around the fabric, and he dragged them both up to the surface again.

He clutched the man’s chest with one arm, and started to swim. He wouldn’t be able to carry them both for longer than a few minutes, and then he would drown himself. And yet, he couldn’t let go. If he had let Snape die, he felt, he would also, necessarily, die himself. Suddenly, Snape gasped and spluttered. He struggled against Remus tight grip, trying to get away from him.

“Snape!” Remus gasped breathlessly. Cold water washed over their heads, momentarily blinding him. Snape made a protesting sound, but then he went limb again in Remus arms, a heavy bag of flesh and clothes. Seaweed clung to their hair, and a log of wood riding on a wave closely missed Remus head. Again and again, his head was drawn under water, as his arms and legs became stiff and jittery. Like a stone, his body was unwilling to move, inflexible.

When his feet hit sandy ground for the first time, he didn’t comprehend, dreadful images of a horrible sea monster flashing through his mind. But then, again, he felt the sandy ground under his naked heels, and there, a stone, sharp and firm. And his shoulders were out of the water, and then his waist, and with the last steps he stumbled and fell, like a dead body washed to the shore.

His cheek touched the sand, and on one of his arms lay Snape’s heavy body, his lungs hurt as if they had been carved out of his body and put in again. Remus’ eyelids fluttered and fell shut. He was trembling slightly, his cramped hand still clutching Snape close to him. A grey sun was somewhere in the west, and soon they would be discovered, but it would be too late. Close by each other, their frozen bodies would be found ...

After a few moments of blackness, he once more opened his eyes. He noticed that part of the seaweed clinging to his face was actually tangles of Snape’s salty and wet hair. In a compulsory shiver he squeezed himself against the other human body, like a child clutching their doll, or a mother hugging her child. It did not matter that this was Snape, it only mattered that he was human, alive, and maybe just a little bit warmer than the loveless beach ...

With nimble fingers, Remus searched for the wand in his pocket. He muttered a spell through chattering teeth, and all of a sudden a gentle warmth penetrated their soaked bodies. Snape moaned softly and eventually came back to life. Remus pressed his face against the warm but wet neck before him and closed his eyes, completely exhausted. He felt Snape stir, then suddenly his body tensed in Remus’ embrace. Yes, Remus thought numbly. I know. I’ll go away ...

But Snape didn’t wince, he didn’t struggle or flee. For the glimpse of an eye he did nothing at all, not even breathe, perhaps intimidated by the sudden closeness. He only uttered a small sound, almost a sigh. Then he pushed away, rolling around and sitting up. Remus opened his eyes, gazing at Snape like a feverish child. He felt the need to cover and hide. Snape was deadly pale and had an expression of deep suffering and dread on his face. And self-pity.

“Look, Snape, I’m sorry,” Remus attempted to placate him.

“It’s not a wizards debt,” Snape spat.

“I’m afraid it –“

“You’re not a man. You’re not human! I’m not indebted to you!” Remus frowned angrily and got up, brushing the sand from his soaked robes, but it was useless.

“Snape,” he sighed, “it won’t help if you deny me thrice, you know? I just thought you’d rather live indebted to me than die uselessly.”

“You and Potter, you only do this to - !” Suddenly Snape stopped in mid insult, just as Remus was looking for something to turn into a port-key. He chose a log of wood lying a few feet away and got up to fetch it. Snape watched him in confusion as he pointed the wand at the wood and concentrated. Why was Snape suddenly looking as if he’d seen a ghost? Or rather ... remembered seeing a ghost?

“Portus,” he said, making the ugly brown log glow with light. A port-key, hopefully to the Eyrie. Snape still looked bewildered. As the man didn’t react, he shrugged in the direction of Azkaban.

“We better get away from here quickly. They will surely have discovered our escape by now. And don’t even start with the ‘there is no we’, that is lame and old. Do you know what I’m really sick of? People like you and Sirius! You just don’t know when to stop! And then, in the end, somebody gets killed because you’re so stubborn ... and .. and immature!” He blinked at his own fury and the fact that Snape barely seemed to notice. What was up with him?

“Oh, whatever,” Remus muttered softly, and because he felt his cheeks reddening, he thrust the portkey at Snape, who touched it without protest and they were both sucked away, not leaving a trace in the sand.

+++

It was almost noon, and the fall sky was incredibly blue above the Welsh mountains, while in the valley a sea of clouds moved like an ocean in slow motion. A fresh wind blew from the west, a wind from the sea, but the sea was far away. It was warmer, here in Wales, even in the mountainside, that it had been in Azkaban.

They arrived on a steep, rocky part of the mountain and quickly started to crawl upwards, making their way between grey boulders and jagged stones, a wild landscaped untouched by humans. Above them, a spindly dark tower made of those stones and a small and ancient building were plastered against the mountain like the nest of some kind of bird, and it was appropriately called ‘The Eyrie’. A group of crippled trees and a very old, snow-white birch-tree were covering around it.

They were able to reach it without clashing with any kind of protective charms, which Remus took as a good sign. Now they stood in front of a tiny arched oak door with a rusty coat of arms on it. The upper part of it showed a badger, a friendly and a little quaint looking animal, the lower part a significantly smaller eagle in flight, carrying a roll of parchment.

“Give me the wand,” demanded Snape and Remus gave it to him. Snape used it to tip the parchment with the point of the wand. It miraculously unfolded, but it was empty. Snape drew lines and arrows onto the rusty metal parchment, and Remus recognised them as ancient runes, but Snape was too fast for him to read them. Suddenly the parchment rolled back together and the door sprung open.

With a last glance to the free blue sky and the lonely valley, Remus followed Snape inside the tiny courtyard. It was covered in cobble stones and in the middle stood an old well and the birch they had seen from the outside. The stones were strewn with the tiny yellow autumn leaves of the tree. Everything looked ancient and enchanted, as if no man had walked on these stones since the time of the founders, but still everything was well kept. There was an eagle’s huge nest on the top of the spindly tower.

Snape went to another wooden door that led inside the building, and found it open. They went inside, longing only for sleep and safety.

It were cosy, low-ceilinged rooms with tapestry-covered stone walls and huge fireplaces, and ovens to warm yourself on. The place had something very familiar to it, and even in his exhausted state Remus recognised the traces of Dumbledore in everything.

They found a guest room with a bed a bench and Snape collapsed onto it without a further word. He was asleep so quickly that it looked at if he had fallen unconscious. Remus slowly sat down on the other half of the bed. A very small square window showed the cloudy valley. In the distance, a flock of ravens was calling with their hoarse voices. Everything was so very peaceful ...

Snape looked terrible, ghostly white with red rimmed eyes, gaunt and sick like a drug addict or a man with a bad fever. Remus felt the cool linen under his touch, and smelled cinders ... he mumbled a charm to warn them of intruders, but before he could end it, he had already slid onto the pillow, a sigh escaping his lips ...

+++

Remus was woken by the feeling of being watched. It was dark already, and cool in their room, and someone with a gas lamp was standing on the threshold of the small guest room. It was an elderly woman with long grey hair, tall and thin, in a tartan night robe. Only then did he notice the wand she held firmly in the other hand, and he recognised Professor McGonagall.

“Professor,” Remus said, but it came out as a hoarse whisper, and he sat up. She raised the wand a little, and he raised his hands. The lamp sputtered and the yellow light flickered. A glance to Snape assured him that the potions teacher was still fast asleep with his face buried in the pillow. Her look followed his, and she frowned.

“Severus?” she asked softly. Remus nodded. Her brows soared high and she pursed her thin lips. “Explain yourself.”

Remus felt ridiculously relieved. She treated him like a schoolboy who had been out past curfew, not like a dangerous criminal. Slowly he rose, acutely aware of his prisoners clothing and gestured towards the door. She nodded and led him outside, into the hall, that was also the living room, but never let her cover down. She made him sit in a very old armchair that creaked uncomfortably. Then she sat down across him. A fire was alight in the grate, and a teapot stood on the table between them. It smelled of smoke and mint. Remus craved the tea but didn’t dare to ask for it. But then he spotted a plate with chocolate cookies, and his heart nearly skipped.

“May I ..?” he asked shyly. McGonagall frowned but nodded. Then she sighed, a pinched and disappointed sound.

“Remus,” she started, but didn’t finish her sentence.

“I can explain everything,” Remus quickly said in between two moments of bliss spent with his cookie. “We are innocent.”

“Innocent? So who killed the muggles this time? Peter maybe?” she asked sharply. Remus lowered his eyes.

“No,” he answered gravely. “It was an illusion, you have to believe me. We got an Order calling and apparated to this house, where we met a dozen men in Death Eater robes and masks, who were firing curses at us. We thought we had to defend ourselves – and when we noticed they were only animated corpses under Imperius, it was too late.”

“You used the killing curse,” replied his teacher and colleague. “You deliberately killed those men.”

“We didn’t!” Remus cried. “I used standard Auror tactics! And so did Severus! Have you examined our wands? Have you been witness to any kind of trial? We were just shipped to Azkaban! Like Sirius!” She nodded, though grimly.

“So you are telling me that you were tricked, that not you, but somebody else used the killing curse on the muggles, that they were already dead ... but who sent you the order calling?”

“I know only one person who could.” Dumbledore. But Dumbledore was gone since more than two months. Silence hung between them. Remus felt sick from hunger. The fire cracked and was reflected by McGonagall’s glasses.

“That is a very wild story. And yet ... I’m not sure. The longer I’m here, the more I begin to doubt everything ... it just makes no sense,” she mused.

“We didn’t even have a motive,” Remus protested tiredly. “Why should we kill random muggles? And the Aurors were there far too quickly. How could you ever believe that story? Did Harry believe it?”

“Potter,” McGonagall sighed, and suddenly laid her wand onto the table to rub her forehead. For the first time Remus noticed how very exhausted she seemed. “Mr Potter is extremely confused. He is torn between his friendship with you and his other friends : Mr Weasley is firmly believing in your culpability and Regulus Black seems to fuel that belief. Mr Potter likes the younger Black very much ... Was it him, Remus? Was he the one who set you up?” Her eyes were probing now.

“We believe so,” he said with a nod. “I think he is using a strong glamour, or something worse, to deceive you all. He might still be a Death Eater, or a dangerous man with his own cause. Maybe he isn’t even Regulus Black. We don’t know yet. But what I know is that he came to Azkaban while we were there, and he seemed very glad to see us there and was looking forward to our impending death.”

“Death?” she asked with raised brows. “Now you’re exaggerating.”

“They put us into a double cell. The full moon is in two weeks.”

“Merlin,” she gasped. “We didn’t know that. That is ... that is ... “. She was trembling with a sudden fury, and then she suddenly grabbed her wand and flicked it violently at the table. A plate with sandwiches and steaming mug of hot chocolate appeared.

“Eat. Drink,” Professor McGonagall commanded with a tightly clipped voice. Then she hurried through the room, fetching a sparkly looking man’s robes, something which was a possession of Albus Dumbledore, and started transfiguring it. She stopped when she began on a second pair of robes, and her eyes wandered to the guest room. Slowly she came back and sat down again.

“How is he?” she asked. And with a more pointed voice :”And how did you two ever make it out of Azkaban? In such a short time?”

“Well, time was pressing. We didn’t kill anyone. It was a bluff that got us out of our cell and then we swam through the sea and port-keyed here with a stolen wand. It was a bit dangerous, the wand was difficult to handle – but we came here almost to the spot. Severus is ... his usual self, I think.” But then, with an almost awed voice, he added : “I saved his life. I think that troubles him a little.”

“Another wizard’s debt?” For the first time McGonagall smiled. She looked wicked. “Poor Severus. But you seem to have got along well enough ...”. Now her expression grew strange. She seemed to ponder something, but didn’t tell him what. He was still devouring the food rather gracelessly, when she noticed the finger he’d bitten off and started to fuss almost as badly as Molly Weasley and Poppy Pomfrey combined.  
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Kensal Green by Wintermute  
Note: Cold Turkey is a term for sudden withdrawal from drugs. It is also used in German, but I wasn't so sure whether you actually say 'somebody is ON cold turkey'? Couldn't find it on the web ...  
Thank you very much for your reviews!

 

8 Kensal Green

Remus has watched McGonagall pop in and out of the place, her fatigue forgotten, fetching them boots and newspapers, two wands which looked suspiciously new and some special things for Severus. He has watched Snape getting up, grumpy and unwilling to talk much. He has noticed how Minerva is worried – but won’t ask her colleague how he is. She isn’t exactly insecure around the younger man, she wouldn’t be insecure around a horde of hellhounds. It’s more like she fears to step over some kind of border between the two of them, Remus guesses.

He’s watched Snape walking in and out of the room, back with new black robes and a strange combination of belts and straps around his torso, hidden underneath those robes. In there he puts break-safe vials with basic potions and ingredients and some other things, like little knifes. That’s impressive, he thinks, but he doesn’t say anything as he sits in his armchair, fed and patched up by McGonagall and thankfully wrapped in his own new set of robes. He eats a little more.

They break and burn the wand they’ve stolen, wands are easy to spot by tracking charms. Thankfully, people aren’t. He knows that, from way back when he and Sirius and James and Peter created the Marauder’s Map. Damn tricky, those tracking charms. He sips on his tea, wincing at the pain in his finger. Or rather, where his finger once was.

He watches Snape rummaging around in the prison robes he has brought to burn them as well. Snape is moving in a strange, nervous way, sometimes he stops to stare at the wall or frown darkly at the dust in the air. His black eyes are brighter than usual then, and his hands are shaking, very lightly. Finally Snape throws the prison robes into the grate, where they burn slowly. It smells horrible, burnt wool and fish and everything. Snape gets up again, and opens an empty vial. He holds something small and crooked between his fingers, something like a ...

“That’s my finger,” said Remus, snapping out of his reverie. Snape looked up at him and smiled unpleasantly.

“You surely don’t need it anymore. Or are you hungry again?”

“No.” But still. That’s his finger! “But ... but what’ll you do with it? You won’t use it to brew some potion, will you?” Parts of people are very potent ingredients, not only for Polyjuice Potions. Parts of werewolves – who knows what they’re worth!

“I don’t know yet.” Snape put it into the vial and the vial into one of the belts. Strange, Remus thought. He’d have thought that Snape would rather throw away a very rare and expensive potion ingredient than keep a part of him around. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe something was wrong with Snape. He smelled off. Like fear, but not the panicky kind. The slow, creeping, confusing kind.

And again he fell silent and watched. McGonagall thinks the best course of action involves finding Albus Dumbledore. Snape thinks that the best course of action involves killing Regulus Black as quickly as possible. Remus thinks that the best course of action involves both, yet can’t decide which should be first. He has never been good at decisions.

But there is another problem at hand: Minerva should return to Hogwarts, to protect the kids and learn more about that fraud Regulus. But if she returns, Snape suspects, she’ll be back under the spell of that man. Because they have worked out that McGonagall was only able to see the truth when because she had been away from Regulus for some days. And Snape probably wasn’t affected because of the near constant Occlumency he keeps up. And Remus? But no one asks about him. Of course, Remus Lupin is a werewolf. He’s special.

“Lupin!” Snape’s unfriendly address wakes him from his daydreaming once more. “Are you asleep? We were asking for your opinion.”

“Sorry.” He draws himself up. “I think you shouldn’t go back to Hogwarts, Professor. You might tell Black about our whereabouts if you get back under his spell.”

“That wasn’t the question,” growls the potions master. “We were talking about the headmaster.”

“Albus isn’t dead,” explained McGonagall. “There are lots of signs that would tell us about his death and none has come true. But the most important of them is Hogwarts. If the current headmaster dies or resigns, the castle would announce it. The headmaster – and also the Deputy Headmaster – are bound to it by magical contracts that date back from the founders’ time. His portrait is still unanimated. And on the contract, his name isn’t crossed out.”

“I know something,” Remus suddenly announced. All the talk about dying had brought him an idea. “Wouldn’t it be valuable to know whether our current Defense teacher is really Regulus Black? Well, we could just look. Into his grave, I mean. He was supposed to be buried, wasn’t he? In that wild tale he’s fed us they buried the enchanted lion after the Death Eaters killed it. So if the body in his grave is a lion, then that part of his story is true. If it isn’t, we’ve got prove against him.” McGonagall nodded but pursed her lips in thought.

“I wonder ... why did none of us bother to do this when he showed up? It would have been a great way to prove or disprove his story. But as far as I know, not even Albus did.” She shook her head. “Where is he buried? Is it safe to go there?”

“I know where their crypt is,” Snape interjected with a dark look. “Kensal Green.”

“Kensal Green? But that cemetery was only founded in the 19th century. Why would such an old pureblood family have their crypt there?” she wondered.

“Kensal Green is the oldest public cemetery of London. Many famous muggles and wizards are buried there, even members of the muggle royal family. It was very fashionable to have a crypt there back in the Victorian Age,” Snape explained. “The Blacks were always a very fashionable family and deeply convinced of their own royalty. Despite the fact that the Kings of Britain have always been muggles, I must say. So they got a crypt there when it was fashionable, just like many other rich wizarding families.”

“Like yours?” He nodded grimly, sipping from his tea. The porcelain clattered when he put the cup down.

 

Kensal Green was the very picture of a Victorian cemetery. In summer it surely deserved its name, as grass and trees and flowerbeds were everywhere to be found. Weeping willows would spread their green shrouds and birds would lament beautifully in lush bushes. Dark ivy was coiling around stone angels and over the marble tombs. The grass was no stiff lawn, but almost a sweet meadow. Crypts like small houses were scattered loosely in this scenery, some a little crowded, some apart from the others. They were an eclectic but dignified mix of styles, from filigree gothic arches to medieval looking crosses, although most of them weren’t older than a century and a half. Crosses were everywhere, but also pillars and obelisks, greying white stone in the darkness.

The half-moon wasn’t yet high in the sky, and clouds were traveling over it, sometimes snuffing the white light out, sometimes revealing it. A soft fog was blurring all edges and distances, hanging between the graves.

In the centre of the cemetery stood the Anglican chapel, put Snape was leading him away from it. They passed by a huge tomb that was carried by at least eight sitting stone griffins, a small temple with Greek pillars, an obelisk with a flower-crowned urn on top. Praying angels as tall as real people kneeling in front of a simple gravestone and a marble bird of prey, chained to a rough rock.

Many symbols were Christian, but almost as many weren’t.

Snape was walking in long strides before him, his black cloak wrapped tightly around him. Wrapped in fog and moonlight on a nightly graveyard, he strongly resembled a vampire. They passed through a field were only small headstones and crosses stuck out of the ground, many of them at odd angles and finally found themselves in a remote and hidden part of the cemetery, under tall chestnut and willow trees, between dark yews. Now, the graves were decorated with different symbols.

There were magical creatures like unicorns and phoenixes, and many natural symbols, coats of arms of many old and famous wizard clans. Remus thought he saw the names Crouch and Cadogan, Dilys and Diggory, Parkinson and Prewett. Snape stopped in front of a dark, massive crypt. It was guarded by a black metal fence and looked powerful and menacing. The door to the fence was ornamented by seven silver stars and the family credo : Toujours Pur .

Remus stopped next to Snape, his hands buried in his pockets. It was colder and darker in this part of the cemetery, and the fog was thicker. It glided around them like a living entity.

“Are you sure we should just break in? The Blacks were obsessed with cursing everything in their possession,” he said softly and shivered.

“That’s why we came so early,” Snape answered with grim determination.

 

The moon stood high in the night sky and the clouds had become darker and yet they were still not a foot into the crypt. Since hours they had worked hard, had broken curses and destroyed deathly traps. Snape had burned his hands on the metal fence when it suddenly started to glow under his hands and a vicious scorpion had nearly poisoned Remus before he could crush it with his heel.

Now they were both sitting on a flat tomb next to the Black family crypt, sweaty and frustrated. Probably Miss Priscilla Goshawk would have been less than delighted about her nightly visitors, but she was dead since 1894.

“So your family has a crypt here, too?” Remus asked. Snape waved derisively into the direction of another crypt, much less pompous than the Black’s, almost hidden by dark ivy. Then he reached inside his cloak, took one of the vials and drowned it.

“It’s only waiting for me now,” he said softly. His face was nearly hidden by a curtain of tangled black hair. “The last time I was here, we buried my sister.”

“You had a sister?” Remus was genuinely surprised.

“A long time ago. And now you probably want to tell me about your family,” was Snape’s sarcastic reply. “Get over with it.” Remus shrugged.

“Nothing spectacular to tell.” He got up and walked back to the fence around the crypt. The silver stars were shimmering slightly in the moonlight. He could touch silver, even eat from silver dishes, but a silver bullet or blade would kill him.

“Toujours Pur,” he snorted. “Whoever came up with that?” And silently the door swung open. He raised a brow. Snape groaned quietly.

“It cannot be that easy, can it?” Remus mused, scratching his chin. “It’s probably another trap.”

“Well, try and go trough it,” Snape sneered. He gave the man a quick look, considering their options. If this was another deathly trap, then he would be better suited to survive it. Probably. Carefully, he put one foot over the threshold. It had proven impossible to climb over the fence or destroy it, but now nothing happened. Only the gravel crunched at little under his heel. He smirked, and glided through the door, then looked back at Snape.

“Seems safe.” He walked up to the door of the crypt, where the crest with the seven silver stars glimmered another time. Still, no evil had befallen him. Probably getting inside was as easy as that. It wasn’t as if anyone had reason to break into a crypt, anyway, besides the two of them. The Blacks had cursed their crypt for fun. Snape came up to him, his wand still ready. Remus put a hand on the old handle of the door, and to his surprise, it swung open with a painful screech. He examined the lock.

“I think someone has broken in here before us.” He looked up at Snape. The dark haired man wore a guarded look on his face. Remus shrugged and lit the tip of his wand, then he stepped inside the crypt.

It was a very strange place indeed. In the centre of the room stood a tree on a dais. But not a normal one. It was a filigree tree spun of gold, with silver leaves, each leaf bearing a name. The roots of the tree wrapped around a black gem as big as a human head. There were vaults in the thick black marble walls, not at all as many as there were leaves on the tree. Remus examined the tree a little closer. Most of the names on the leaves were alien to him, but then he came upon one, very near the crown, which he knew. ‘Phineas Nigellus’.

The crypt smelled strange. Of dead foliage, dust, old stone ... and something sharp. It smelled of animal. Blood and animal. He felt the little hairs on his neck rise in fear. Snape was walking around the room, examining the vaults. In one corner he stopped. Remus came to look what he had found and gazed over his shoulder.

Two vaults bore the name of Sirius’ parents. The one above them, the very last of all the vaults, said ‘Regulus Black 1964 – 1980’. But it was not closed. It hang open at a strange angle. They frowned at each other, then Snape pulled at the lid and it gave away. Behind it, the black mouth of the coffin gaped. It was dark as a pitch and you could impossibly tell if somebody lay inside it or not.

“Somebody’s been here before us,” Snape mused. “Black?”

“Why would he look into his own grave?” Snape made a superior face.

“To put a different corpse inside, of course. Or steal the original one. If he isn’t really Black, that is.” Remus shrugged and simply reached inside. It was obviously empty. But ...

“That’s strange.”

“What?” Snape demanded impatiently.

“There are ... scratches in here ... as if somebody had been – oh, and what’s this?” He closed his hand around it and pulled it out of the coffin. It was a splinter of wood, crusted with dusty blood and some hairs.” Suddenly Remus felt the blood drain from his face and he let go of the splinter.

“Gods,” he whispered hoarsely. “Somebody was put in there ... alive!” Snape picked up the splinter and carefully put it into one of his vials, but Remus was still thunderstruck.

 

Buried alive! Closed in a tight hull of darkness and solid stone, left to die, to suffocate, to starve. Completely alone, unheard, unseen, maybe not even knowing why you were in this deathly cave.

The person had obviously tried to claw out of the coffin, but probably failed. But now he wasn’t there anymore. Had Regulus Black killed another person instead of himself, by burying them alive in his own grave? He was cruel and cunning enough to do something like that to save his own skin when Voldemort discovered his betrayal. But why should he have returned now? Remus felt sick. He turned to leave.

“Let’s go ... this is a bad place.” Snape followed him into the moonlight and they both walked out of the crypt.

“What’s the matter, Lupin?” Snape asked with a sneer when they stopped to Apparate. “You look like a school girl who’s just found a spider in her hair.”

Remus threw him a dark look. Snape was sickly pale himself, with a sheen on sweat on his forehead, and dark rings under his reddened eyes. He had already looked bad this morning, but it became continually worse.

“Well, and you look like you’re...on cold turkey, actually.” Snape stared.

“Cold Turkey?”  
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Cold Turkey by Wintermute  
You'll never guess how totally baffled I was when a few days ago, I noticed that my story was a featured one! Those wonderful people of mugglenet fanfiction don't notice their authors if they do that, it seems. I'm shocked and pleased and incredibly surprised. Thank you very much, admins and reviewers. I would never, ever have expected this.

So, finally, here is the update. Bear with me, it's the time of my final exams and I'm also writing another story.  
This chapter was betaed by rambkowalczyk.

 

9 Cold Turkey

“Are you suggesting that I look like a dead American bird, Lupin?” Snape’s irritated voice rang after him as they entered the Eyrie.

Remus went into the drawing room, took off his cloak which was damp from the early dew and lit the fire in the grate. A tall grandfather clock with a pendulum told him that it was ten past four in the early morning. Professor McGonagall was probably still asleep. She was sleeping in the main bedchamber of the Eyrie, which was the most spacious. There was only one guest room, so one of them would have to sleep on the sofa today.

“I forgot you don’t socialise with Muggles,” Remus smiled wearily as he sat down. He had spent many years away from England and away from the wizarding world, with Muggles all over Europe and America, while Snape had never left the wizarding world at all.

“Cold Turkey means to abruptly quit consuming a substance you’re addicted to. Which is not to suggest that I think you’re doing drugs or anything like that. Or are you?”

Snape stood behind an armchair, one of his pale hands on the furniture. It was hilarious to imagine Severus Snape with a drug habit, Remus thought. The man was living the life of a monk, and apart from his social skills, he was the most disciplined man Remus knew. Remus thought himself disciplined, as being a werewolf required a fair amount of discipline, but now and then he would indulge in the small pleasures of life: a bar of chocolate here, a spiced tea there... of course he had never laid a finger on drugs, not even alcohol, because drugs and werewolves didn’t mix well. But he knew people who had. Snape wasn’t one of them.

And yet he wasn’t saying a word right now.

“Snape?” Remus asked, now serious. Still the man remained silent. His face was a stony mask, but his fingers were trembling.

“You can’t just deny it,” said Remus helplessly. “I mean, now is not the right time to... to be in a bad condition. Maybe it’s something we could get you.”

“Shut up!” Not bothering to be eloquent any more, Snape slid into the armchair. His tall form shrunk and he rubbed his forehead. He had given up. “I need a Pensieve.”

“A Pensieve?”

Remus knew of them, they were used to look at memories and to store memories outside your head. But Pensieves were rare – and illegal. He wasn’t quite sure why, he had never seen or used one himself. “Pensieves are addictive?”

“Not necessarily,” Snape explained sullenly. “Dumbledore uses it too, and he isn’t addicted. But if you use it too often, then you start to rely on it. And if you put too many of your memories into a Pensieve, then it induces a lightness in your mind. That is what is addictive.”

Remus was thunderstruck. He didn’t know what was stranger: Snape being addicted to a memory storing device or Snape admitting it. “But why do you use one if you know that?”

Snape sneered, but very unconvincingly. “I have to, Lupin. I’m an Occlumens, yes, but I can’t risk that the Dark Lord obtains certain information if he breaks my mind.”

Shivers ran down Remus’ back from the casual way in which Snape mentioned Voldemort breaking his mind. Even more so because he had seen his fair share of people who had broken minds and hearts. There had been times when he had considered himself among them. Then he remembered something else.

“Um... Severus... last year I had a conversation with Harry and Sirius ... Harry was telling us about something he had seen in your Pensieve.”

Incredible anger flashed in the potions master’s eyes and he sat upright again. His voice was suddenly sharp as cutting steel. “What? Did he want to amuse you with stories of old times?”

“No. He was very upset... he was blaming Sirius and his father and was asking us if it was true what he had seen. I know it was true but that’s not my question. Why do you store that information in the Pensieve? It’s of no value to Voldemort, I would think.”

“You’re wrong about that. I dispose of memories like this one to make sure I stay rational and cold during my contact with Voldemort. The more emotional nonsense you carry around with you, the easier it is for a Legilimens to enter your mind. It’s distracting.”

Whether this was true, or a lie, or a half-lie, Remus wasn’t sure. It made more sense to think that when training Occlumency with Harry, Snape had wanted to hide those embarrassing thoughts. But maybe it was also true that Voldemort could use them against him.

“But that means... does that mean that you have put all of your childhood memories into the Pensieve? What do you even remember?” Remus knew Snape’s history well enough to know that Snape had a hell of a lot of disturbing emotional memories. When he realised that it was probably a bad idea to ask Snape such a thing so directly (really, it would have been impolite towards anyone), it was too late to take it back.

“I know what kind of a childhood I had without you reminding me of it,” Snape said angrily. “I put inside what I necessarily have to hide. And it’s not everything. I keep those memories the Dark Lord knows and likes, so he won’t become suspicious.” Snape said that with a cruel kind of satisfaction, as if he knew how horrible Remus would find it.

“The ones he likes?”

“I’m a dark, hateful man, don’t you remember?” An awful laugh accompanied this, a sound that barely deserved the name ‘laugh’. “He likes ... looking at the things which made me that way. It amuses him. It makes him sure that I won’t betray him.”

It was scary to realise the extent to which Snape had given up himself in order to serve Dumbledore. He had altered his personality, had twisted himself into a lie to please Voldemort. He had kept the darkest memories he had, and put away the lighter ones, so Voldemort would never suspect that Snape had any reason to change sides. Of course that didn’t leave much room for him to grow into a real, stable, healthy person.

“And all those memories are now in the Pensieve?” If so, then they had a problem. The Pensieve was at Hogwarts along with Regulus Black. A possible Death Eater spy had free access to Snape’s deepest secrets.

“That’s the problem. They’re inside my head right now.”

Suddenly, a lot of pieces came together to form a whole picture in Remus’ mind. During the past days Snape had been unusually emotional. At times he had seemed a lot more human, too. Was it because he had all his memories inside his head and not just a fraction of them? Was this the real Severus Snape resurfacing? It must be painful for Snape, but actually it might be a good thing.

Snape was still sitting in the armchair, looking pallid and weak. He stared at his hands and mumbled something to himself.

“You should rest, I think. Maybe drink something.”

“I cannot afford this right now!” Snape barked but quickly deflated again. “I have to get better immediately. A calming potion will do...”

“I don’t think you should mess with your mind any more-“

Their loud talk had woken up Professor McGonagall, and the elderly lady was standing in the door frame watching them. They both fell quiet.

“What have you found out?” she asked tiredly. Remus remembered the graveyard.

“The tomb is empty. But someone had been inside it, alive. There were scratches and blood on the inside. We don’t know what happened. And we have another problem now. Do you think you could return to Hogwarts and fetch us something from Severus’ chambers?”

“It would be dangerous,” Minerva answered and pursed her lips in doubt. She yawned and conjured some strong tea. “What is it?”

“A Pensieve.” She raised a brow but said nothing.

+++++

It was eight in the morning. They were still sitting in the drawing room, that is, Remus was sitting. Snape lay with his head on a pillow on one of the sofas. He was shivering and sweating at the same time and while his teeth were chattering, he seemed unusually eager to talk. He was instructing Remus how to brew a calming potion with the few ingredients they already had . Remus had to work and stir with his uninjured hand. His finger was still missing. It could have been regrown, but he had decided not to do that. He had bitten it off just like Peter had, and he would keep it like that until Peter was dead.

“Add the lime-blossoms. She was only fourteen. Salvia.”

“Was that her name?” Remus asked as he put the lime-blossoms inside the kettle. Snape had been talking about his sister, although sometimes he seemed to confuse her with his various aunts or his pet toad.

“No, you moron. Add the salvia,” Snape snorted. “Her name was Mildred. Bloody stupid name. She was to marry Rabastan Lestrange but fell in love with a Muggle from our village. The family of the spouse had to restore their honour...”

Remus almost dropped the whole bag of salvia into the small copper kettle. “They killed a fourteen year old girl to restore their honour?”

But Snape seemed to have forgotten the topic and was suddenly talking about something else. “Dumbledore and Voldemort really have a lot in common. When I meet the Dark Lord, he looks into my mind to assure himself of my loyalty. When I came to Dumbledore, when I change sides... well the price I had to pay for his faith in me was baring all my memories to him. Every single one. There are no secrets between us. Would you do that? Would you let him see your inner beast? Pulverised bezoar.”

“If I were Dumbledore, I’d probably let him. He wouldn’t judge me. But Dumbledore knew that you were able to deceive Voldemort, didn’t he? Why does he trust you then?” Remus was careful not to sound as if he didn’t trust Snape. Because, really, he did.

“Because he hopes. And Voldemort also knows that I have secrets. He knows that I’m working for Dumbledore. I’m a double agent, and both of them know it. Each of them thinks I’m more loyal to him than to the other...”

Snape laughed hoarsely. Remus was very glad that they were safe and alone. Right now, Snape was pouring out all his secrets to him and some of these things could have cost him his life if they got to Voldemort’s ears.

“Three drops of nightingale’s blood... would use Hypnos’ Tears, but we’ve got none... pineapples.”

Remus found the nightingale’s blood in a tiny, nut-like capsule and added it to the potion, but there were no pineapples anywhere. “I don’t think we’ve got pineapples,” he said worriedly. It wouldn’t help to conjure a pineapple; the ingredients of potent potions had to be naturally grown. But Snape shook his head, blinking rapidly.

“Don’t you see all those pineapples?” he asked with a hysterical voice. “That witch is mad! Why did she put all those pineapples on the shelves?”

There were no pineapples on any shelves, just books. Snape was hallucinating and it seemed to scare and amuse him at the same time. “We cannot eat all those pineapples. We might have to feed them to the squirrels.”

And so the hours went by, with Snape becoming considerably less coherent and Remus brewing the potion. It had to boil for three quarter of an hour and then Snape drank it, but it didn’t help much. At least he stopped talking. Remus was hoping that there was no lasting damage and that these were just strange withdrawal symptoms.

Finally, at half past ten, McGonagall returned. She looked flushed, but carried an object wrapped in old linen. She carefully unwrapped it and put the cloth aside after she had placed it on the table. It was a stone bowl with runic symbols on the broad edge, and a silvery, half liquid and half vaporous substance inside it. So this is a Pensieve, Remus thought.

McGonagall threw Snape a worried glance. He lay on the sofa in a fitful drowse and still looked very sick.

“Were you seen by anyone ?” Remus asked.

“Yes, I saw Miss Granger, but she seemed alright.”

If Hermione looked alright, then Harry was probably alright as well, Remus realised with relief. It worried him greatly to know that Harry and his friends were alone at Hogwarts, with no one to protect them. All of the other teachers were under Regulus’ spell.

“But someone has been in Severus’ chambers and his office. The cabinet I found the Pensieve in was broken into. Perhaps someone has been looking for the Pensieve.”

“We’re lucky Severus didn’t have his memories in it. ” Remus got up and shook Snape by the shoulder. “We’ve got it.”

Snape rose groggily and stared at the stone basin. The light substance was reflected by his dark, bloodshot eyes. He reached for his wand and tapped the glittering surface, twirling it around like spun sugar. Flashes of images appeared inside the whirling mass.

“Someone has been using it,” Snape said hollowly. “There are memories inside it.”

“Whose could they be?”

“Dumbledore’s.” Snape said. “But I didn’t think he had left any of his memories here ... I don’t know about Black. If he has been going through my things...” Snape didn’t sound angry, only very tired and dazed. At least he wasn’t seeing any pineapples.

“Why would someone put his memories inside a stranger’s Pensieve?” McGonagall wondered.

“As a message,” suggested Remus. “As a trace – maybe a false one. We should look at them, though. A false trace is better than no trace.”

All three of them stared at the shallow basin. They moved closer, looking deeply into the ceaselessly moving substance. Snape tapped it with his wand and it started to move faster, around and around until it darkened like smoke and a blurry image appeared. After a few seconds, they were pulled inside the Pensieve as if by portkey, tumbling headfirst into a stranger’s memory.

The drawing room seemed to drop aside and they were in another room. They saw Dumbledore, sitting in his office, talking. But the memory was strangely blurred and cloudy, and they could not understand Dumbledore’s voice. Suddenly Dumbledore looked at them with his piercing eyes and fell quiet. Where the person Dumbledore was talking to should have been was only a human-shaped shadow with no recognisable features. He could turn around, but there the memory got even blurrier.

“I know that look,” Snape said beside Remus. All three of them were standing in the room like ghosts. Snape looked a lot better all of a sudden. “Dumbledore is doing Legilimency.”

“But on whom? Why can’t we see him?” Wondered the Transfigurations Mistress. She studied Dumbledore closely and then clucked her tongue. “Oh... but this must be an older memory! He hasn’t worn that hat for eighteen years...” She smiled melancholy.

“Is it Dumbledore’s memory?” Remus asked.

Snape shrugged. “I don’t know. It is strange that we cannot see who he is talking to. That person should be right here where we are standing.”

But before they could answer that question, the memory became even hazier and then completely vanished in a blur. It was as if the memory had been hastily ripped out of someone’s head, or as if it had been damaged by something. Instead of the office they suddenly saw nothing but darkness.

There were no odours inside the Pensieve, but what they heard was a distinct scratching noise and muffled gasps, as if someone was suffocating. Wails of panic and pain filled the lightless claustrophobic place they were in.

“It’s his vault,” Remus realised, and noticed that he was whispering. He couldn’t even see the others and felt paralysed because he couldn’t feel his limbs or see anything. A few seconds longer, and he would start to panic as well, caught up in this bodiless void. Maybe this was a trap and they would have to stay here forever...

“Black’s grave?” he heard Snape ask, and the known voice calmed him down, but again they were pulled away.

The sudden change was blinding. Instead of a tight, black hole they were now standing in the open forest on a grey winter day. Without having to move, they were pulled forward between the trees as the person whose memory they saw moved forward. Strangely, there was nobody else to be seen.

Remus was happy to have escaped the dark pit. Being imprisoned in dark and tiny places was one of his oldest childhood fears. When he had still been very young, he had to endure his transformations in the coal cellar under their house. But at least then he had known that another day would come and someone would open the door. The person in Regulus Black’s grave probably did not have such hopes.

The forest seemed to be very wild and old. Remus liked the forest; it was a part of his nature he wouldn’t deny. The forest represented freedom, and purity and calm. Maybe it was the heart of the Forbidden Forest, because there was no path, no trace of civilisation and it looked familiar to Remus. It was winter, the sky was grey and the earth wet. They crossed a brook that was partly frozen over and in the distance they could now spot a huge grey rock among the fir trees. Not a single bird was singing.

“I think this must be Regulus Black’s memories,” Remus observed. “The last one was certainly his.”

This memory, in comparison to the first two, was clear and undamaged. They could discern every dead leaf on the ground and every shade of grey in the sky. And then they saw the most wondrous thing:

In the middle of the wild wintry forest, on top of a rock, there grew an apple tree. And the apple tree bore sprightly leaves and pink and white blossoms at the same time, and also golden apples that looked as delicious as they had never seen apples look before. The tree was small and old, and yet heartbreakingly beautiful amidst the rough wilderness. It was like a reminder of spring, an old, eternal source of blossoming life and love, a recollection of summer, warmly shining upon the lonely wilderness. They felt drawn to it by a strange longing, even though it wasn’t real but only a memory.

And finally, as they were only a few more steps away from it, they saw a figure leaning against the tree, sleeping peacefully under its rich, heavy branches. He was a very old, white-bearded wizard with long hair. His head was resting against the trunk and small blossoms and dew drops were caught in his white hair. His slender hands were folded in his lap, while eyes were closed and his mouth was relaxed and smiling, as in the deepest of sleeps. It looked as if he had been sleeping here for centuries undisturbed.

“Albus!” Professor McGonagall exclaimed, but they were already pulled out of the Pensieve.  
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Merlin's Sleep by Wintermute  
Note: The Pensieve is a really confusing device. I didn't intend it to play such a crucial role in this story, but now it does and it confuses even me. Without the very helpful questions of my beta rambkowalczyk it would be even worse!  
Thanks for R&R

 

10 - Merlin’s Sleep

 

One day King Arthur and the Knight’s of his Round Table were deprived of Merlin’s wise counsel. The great sorcerer had gone on a stroll in the woods, yet from there he did not return. It was said that he met a beautiful woman in the wilderness and enthralled by her charms he taught her all his magic. But when he was done, his pupil betrayed him, turning his teachings against Merlin and overpowering him with his own magic. Under her spell he fell asleep by an enchanted tree, and he would not wake from his dreams. Winter and summer he spent in this deathlike trance and he would neither wake nor stir, regardless of whatever was happening around him. And somewhere he still sleeps, forever bewitched by his lady...

+++++

Immediately after they emerged from the Pensieve, a heated discussion started. Minerva was the most excited, but Remus also felt thrilled. There was a possibility that Dumbledore was alive!

“It is only a trick! Why else would Black have left it for us to find?” Snape disagreed instantly.

“Of course it is,” McGonagall agreed. “But a Pensieve doesn’t lie! There is no way to alter the memories inside. Albus lives, we’ve seen him!”

“And when we go there to wake him, Regulus Black will be waiting for us, probably with a dozen Dementors at his whim. Bad idea,” replied Snape sourly.

“Do you know what could have happened to Dumbledore?” Remus asked.

The image of the old wizard sleeping under the wondrous tree had been faintly familiar. He thought he had once seen a picture depicting a scene like this, or maybe a poem describing a similar scene.

“I think I do,” the Transfigurations Mistress said with a nod. “And if I’m right, then there is hope. Have you ever heard of a spell called ‘Merlin’s Sleep’?”

Both men shook their heads, but the name of Merlin rang a bell within Remus. That was why the image was familiar! The story of Merlin and King Arthur. Hadn’t Merlin in the end been enchanted by an evil witch? But wasn’t that part of Muggle folklore, having nothing to do with the historical wizard Merlin?

“It is very ancient and powerful magic and I don’t know exactly how it is done,” she went on. “But it is said that Merlin knew of it and taught it to the witch Muggles know as the Lady of the Lake, Nimue. Some sources even say that he wanted to be enchanted in this way, so he could rest until he was needed again, others claim that she did it to overpower him.”

“How does it work?” Snape asked pragmatically. He obviously didn’t know the spell either.

“It entraps him in a magical slumber in a cave or a tree. He cannot die, and it is not said how exactly he can be woken up again. Some say only the one who cast the spell can reverse it. I’ve also read that it is supposed work best on old and powerful wizards who have a secret desire for rest.”

“Fits our Headmaster,” Snape said dryly. He was gazing longingly at the Pensieve. While he didn’t look quite healthy yet, some of his strength had returned since they had been in the Pensieve, as if even the short exposure to the addictive device had cured him. He seemed impatient to put his memories inside the bowl.

McGonagall nodded with a soft expression on her usually stern face. “Albus was fascinated with that story. I don’t know whether he was joking at the time or not, but he once told me that this was how he would like to die. It looked so peaceful, didn’t it?” She stared at the table, lost in thought.

“I think it is most inappropriate for Dumbledore to die peaceably now,” Snape answered her grumpily. And in spite of how insensitive that remark was Remus found himself agreeing with it.

 

“Can the spell only be used by women?” Remus asked. There were forms of magic that could only be done by certain groups of people, like women or children or mothers, especially ancient branches of magic. If ‘Merlin’s Sleep’ could only be done by a witch, then it was safe to assume that Regulus Black was not the one who cast it.

“I don’t know,” McGonagall said. “I don’t think so. But then again I also didn’t think that anyone today still knew how to do it. Albus knew a lot about ancient magic, but he never gave away how capable he was of doing this spell.”

“Why was the memory so blurred?” Remus changed the subject. “Is that normal? Could you discern who he was talking to?”

They shook their heads. “I’ve never seen any memory look that bad,” Snape commented. “But if they were Black’s memories, the person Dumbledore talked to was probably him.”

“Why would Dumbledore talk to him eighteen years ago?” McGonagall inquired.

“Wasn’t he still in school at that time? 1978 was the year we graduated and Regulus was three years younger than Sirius.” Remus reminded them. “There might be a number of reasons why they talked to each other.”

1978\. He and Snape had been seventeen in that year. How strange to think of that. He sometimes felt so old, even though he was only 36, and sometimes it was as if he had always been that old. They had just graduated from Hogwarts back then. It had been a strange time, at once carefree and dark, a time where anything was possible; a time for thinking in black and white. Sirius and James had entered the Order, and so had Remus, although more reluctantly. Dumbledore had insisted on him joining them, but Remus had always known that some people didn’t trust him. And Snape probably had already been a Death Eater. When had Snape changed sides? Remus didn’t know. He made a mental note to ask about it.

The most important question though was whether they would go to that tree and try to wake Dumbledore. They all agreed that the tree was most likely located in the Forbidden Forest and that the memory placed so conveniently in the Pensieve was meant to lure them there.

Another thing they wondered about was Regulus’ intentions. Was he a servant of the Dark Lord? He had definitely joined them at some point and then, some sixteen years previously, had vanished, presumably dead. But he wasn’t dead and maybe it all had been a scheme to deceive them. Maybe Voldemort had wanted to make it seem as if Regulus had been killed by Death Eaters, only to make him reappear some months or years later, so that he could infiltrate the Order. When Voldemort himself was nearly vanquished by Harry, Regulus had to stay in hiding, just like Peter Pettigrew. Now that Voldemort was back, Regulus had returned to him. This was only a theory, though. If it were correct, why didn’t Voldemort act, now that all obstacles were out of the way?

Dumbledore had disappeared without warning shortly after the start of the term in September. Now it was the close to the end of October. For a certain time, the Order had managed to keep Dumbledore’s absence a secret from the public, but Voldemort would know of it by now (especially if Regulus was his servant). There was no one to protect Hogwarts and Voldemort could just enter the castle and kill Harry. What was he waiting for?

“Halloween!” Remus suddenly called out. “He’s waiting for Halloween.”

Snape looked sceptical. Remus quickly tried to explain.

“Well, hasn’t Voldemort always been concerned with such things? He loves complicated schemes, like using the Triwizard Cup to transport Harry out of Hogwarts, or using Harry to get at the Prophecy. He allowed Harry to battle him at the graveyard. It’s illogical, it’s not pragmatic, but he likes things to be meaningful and grand in appearance. Wouldn’t it be a triumph to kill Harry on the day he was nearly killed by him fifteen years ago?”

Snape slowly nodded; obviously surprised that Remus was able to get into the Dark Lord’s head so well and maybe also a little jealous.

“That might be it, Lupin. The Dark Lord wants to show that he is not scared, that he has all the time and leisure in the world to kill Potter.”

“But that only leaves us five days until Halloween to wake Albus up!” Minerva said in a thunderstruck voice.

“Five days!” she exclaimed. “There’s no time to lose, boys.” She quickly stood up, ignoring Snape’s indignant glare and looked for her cane. She was still using it since last year.

“I’ll have to do some research on that spell. Severus, you need to rest. No objections. Use that Pensieve, but don’t destroy Black’s memories,” she hastily instructed them. Snape frowned, but nodded. She disappeared in a hurry and they were alone once more.

++++

There wasn’t anything for Remus to do, so he just stayed in the drawing room and watched Snape put his thoughts into the Pensieve. It seemed to require a lot of attention and neither of them talked for a long time. It was getting cooler and the sun went behind the clouds. To pass the time Remus went to fetch new wood for the fireside.

The Eyrie was a lovely place, old-fashioned and cosy. Remus already felt at home here. He dreaded the prospect of having to leave to look for another cheap Muggle flat almost as much as he dreaded the idea of losing this fight, but one or the other would happen. He would have liked to live in a house like this. He stopped his daydreaming when he remembered what he had wanted to ask earlier.

“1978. What did you do in that year?”

He didn’t want to ask straightaway ‘were you a Death Eater or a spy?’. Snape stopped in the middle of putting a silver thread of memory into the Pensieve and glared at him.

“Graduate, what else,” he huffed. “Are you getting senile on top of your lunacy?”

Remus laughed it off. “Come on. You know what I am talking about.”

“I joined them in seventy-seven,” Snape said uncomfortably, but he was already looking at the Pensieve again. Absentmindedly he touched the wrist of his left arm. It was covered by his black robes, but Remus knew what he would see there if Snape rolled up his sleeve.

“But I received the Mark in seventy-eight. I earned it the hard way. The Dark Lord wasn’t as desperate to take anyone as Dumbledore was,” Snape said with a meaningful look to Remus, who chose to ignore it for the sake of getting to hear more of Snape’s history.

“By that time I was the best potions brewer among his followers. Poisons and mind-control, fame and glory, life and death – if it was dark, I could brew it. I earned that Mark.”

Remus had never heard Snape sound so bitter before, despite the note of pride that was evident in his voice. But whether the bitterness was aimed at his own foolish actions or at his former master or at the world in general – Remus didn’t know.

The room was filled with flickering orange shadows from the fire and candles. It accentuated Snape’s features, the hooked nose and thin lips and made him seem older than he was.

“I earned that Mark, and nothing else,” he said with a very low voice.

“It was not what you expected?”

“It was not what I wanted!” Snape shot at him with a sudden vehemence and vulnerability.

“You worked hard to earn respect,” Remus acknowledged. “You wanted to be accepted as someone who was valuable.”

“I was valuable,” Snape retorted. “As valuable as a wand, or a rare ingredient. A useful tool; that is what I am. And don’t think that became any different after I changed sides.”

Snape’s look had become challenging all of a sudden. They were sitting in the silent, fire-lit drawing room, and Snape was staring over the table at him as if it were a court-room and Remus were the defendant. He was accusing him and all other Order members of something Remus could hardly deny: that they didn’t appreciate him as a person. Neither of them said anything until Remus lowered his gaze. Snape reciprocated.

“As Lily Potter oh-so politely put it once, I am a person with a ‘most unfortunate character’.”

She must have been angry at him, Remus thought; probably after he insulted her one too many times. Yes, that was something Snape would do. He insulted people all the time, and he aimed at the places where it hurt the most. Fairness was alien to him, as was sensitivity. He demanded respect, but didn’t respect others. He could be annoyingly stubborn and childish.

“Lily was a very bright girl,” Remus said calmly into Snape’s face. “She was just and honest, and she was always courageous. She never judged people before she knew them. But she could get very angry, too. I believe that what she was talking about was not your personality. She was talking about your behaviour, your manners, Snape. She didn’t really know anything else about you, or did she?”

Snape remained frozen. He resembled a rabbit in a field of hippogryphs wanting to run but paralysed by fear.

“You can be a horrible person. You are, to be very blunt, a pain in the ass most of the time.” Remus smiled apologetically even while he said this. There was no way Snape could deny this. But the other man had resorted to staring unbelievingly.

“But that has not much to do with your personality. In fact I think that you rarely give us a glimpse of who you are. But do you remember what Dumbledore always says? I’m sure he’s told you, too. Our choices and actions define us. And from your choices and actions, you are one of the most valuable people I know.”

Remus didn’t say ‘and one of the bravest’, because it needn’t be said. But he thought it. Few people would risk and sacrifice as much as Snape did. By offering Dumbledore his services, he had thrown away all security and power he had ever had. He cut the ties (thin as they might have been) to his Slytherin comrades. But it not only took a lot of courage to do such a thing. It took a mind that was independent enough to make choices of its own, to decide what was morally wrong and what was right without depending on the opinions of your peers. There weren’t many people who could do this.

But it wasn’t just his life that Snape had offered Dumbledore. It was his whole person, his identity, his personality that he had to twist and turn in order to service him. And what was his reward? A place in the rank of Dumbledore’s fighters, where not many truly trusted or respected him, and a sanctuary at Hogwarts, where he had to do what he despised wholeheartedly: teaching. No wonder the man was bitter.

That didn’t mean that it was okay for Snape to behave the way he did. Yes, he had to keep up an appearance, but he didn’t have to torment his students the way he did. Remus wished that Snape would be nicer sometimes, and not so stubborn.

Snape opened his mouth, no doubt in order to insult him, but there came no sound. He closed it again. His resistance was faltering and it scared him to death by the look of it.

“But that’s just words,” was his sudden, forced reply. “Meaningless phrases...”

Remus sighed. “I’m going to bed Snape. I mean, I’m going to sleep. You get the bed. She said you should rest, didn’t she?” He got up and walked over to the sofa, putting out the candles in this part of the room.

He was terribly tired as he never did get to sleep after coming back from the Black family crypt, but it was also a way to escape further conversation. A way to give Snape room. He lay down on the sofa, crossed his arms over his chest, tucked a pillow behind his head and covered himself with his cloak. Then he closed his eyes. The room was very quiet except for the fire, as if Snape wasn’t there at all. After a few minutes, the other wizard put out the remaining candles and the fireplace and went out of the room in silence.

In the gloom of the cloudy afternoon, Remus smiled, just a little bit.

++++

In the early morning hours, when both of them were still asleep, McGonagall returned from Hogwarts. It was now October the 26th.

She woke them at eight ‘o’ clock and presented them with a nice breakfast. Food tasted the same whether it was conjured by magic or not, but the magical food was not very nourishing. Outside, it was raining ceaselessly. Over jam, toast, ham and eggs and glasses of pumpkin juice, she instructed them about what she had found out at Hogwarts.

Snape didn’t show any sign of being upset from their conversation of the day before. In fact, it was as if their conversation had never happened. Maybe it was better that way. Remus had been afraid of having gone too far. As always when he reached out to people he was afraid of being rejected, of changing a relationship for the worse. At least that didn’t seem to have happened.

Minerva gave them the account of what had happened during her visit at Hogwarts. “I know there were several books about Merlin which mentioned the sleeping spell, but none of them were available in the library. Someone else must have them, but it was too late yesterday, I couldn’t ask Madam Pince.”

“Why ask? It’s obviously Black who has them,” Snape said after a sip of tea.

“Wouldn’t that mean that he somehow suspected us to look for them?”

“Of course. He probably already knows that we took the Pensieve and it would be a logical step for us to try and research this. He’s one step ahead of us,” Snape concluded.

McGonagall pursed her lips, shrugged and went on. “My private bookshelves contained no helpful material. But I looked into a book about Pensieves.”

She bit off a piece of toast, chewed and emptied her cup of tea.

“There were several explanations as to why the memory was so blurry. Explanation one was that the memory was taken forcibly out of someone’s head. Explanation two was that the person it was taken from was suffering a severe damage of the brain, or already dead.”

“The author suggested that memories of dreams and hallucinations would also look unclear, but I think that’s not very probable in our case. Explanation number three is that the person who put it into the Pensieve was under some form of mind-control, for example some one whose memory was Obliviated or someone who was under the Imperius Curse. Memory charms mess with your memory and mind-control like the Imperius often mess with the way you perceive reality. A memory that is true but contradicts the orders a person has been given under the Imperius would look blurry, while a memory that does not contradict those orders would look perfectly normal.”

“And the last, and most likely explanation is that the scene which is blurry in the Pensieve showed some kind of Glamour.”

There were a couple of charms that could be categorised as Glamours. Remus didn’t know much about them. They weren’t taught at Hogwarts as they had no practical use but to deceive people. They weren’t illegal like the unforgivable curses or love potions, but in fact a Glamour was no better than a lie.

“As used by Regulus Black?”

She nodded. “He could have used a Glamour when talking to Dumbledore, don’t you think? Obviously the younger Mr Black had more skills than he let on.”

“I get the feeling that no one really knew him,” Remus mused, saying this more to himself than to the others. “Even his own brother underestimated him.”

Snape scowled. “Is that sentimental nonsense of any importance, Lupin? Important is that the scenes we saw in the Pensieve were true and that there is something Black doesn’t want us to know about ‘Merlin’s Sleep’, which is why he hides all the relevant books.”

Remus considered arguing with Snape, but then just turned away and stared out of the window.

“Well, there isn’t much we can do now, other than try and wake Albus,” McGonagall said tiredly. She got up, put the dishes into the sink and a brush automatically started washing them. With a quick flick of her wand she cleaned the table.

“Or has anybody got a better plan?” she challenged them.

“Kill Black,” Snape suggested instantly. Like always, he didn’t let go of old grudges.

“And what if only he can wake Albus? We cannot risk that,” countered the Deputy Headmistress.

“Kidnap him, then,” Snape answered her with vehemence.

“Too dangerous. Hogwarts is swarming with Aurors and Dementors looking for the two of you. And Black would know better than be so careless.”

Remus stared out of the small windows, watching the cold drizzle and the foggy clouds drifting over the Welsh mountainside. The clouds wrapped around the trees like gauze veils. A plan formed inside his mind.

“Snape and I could Apparate to the Forbidden Forest, outside the Anti-Apparation Zone. The smell of a blossoming apple tree and a wizard should be relatively easy for me to follow. I’ll lead us the tree. Regulus should have classes to teach right now, but if he’s waiting there for us, which he probably is, he’ll try to catch us. We’ll let him catch us.”

Snape raised a brow.

“And when he triumphs over us, gleefully declaring his victory, he won’t notice the small tabby cat approaching him from behind. At least not until it’s too late and she’s hexed him into next week.” Snape shrugged, which was as good as a ‘yes’. Remus tilted his head and gazed expectantly at McGonagall. A thin smile spread on the teacher’s stern face.

“I’m getting the impression, Mr Lupin, that I should have wondered more often who was behind Mr Black’s and Mr Potter’s pranks.”  
Back to index  
The Cat in the Grass by Wintermute  
Betaed by rambkowalczyk

11 The Cat in the Grass

‘So you are tired with all those make-up spells? Your hair is still frizzy after hours of hard work? Your colleagues avoid you and your boss doesn’t appreciate you? Your voters don’t believe you? We have the cure!

With ‘Charming Charms: Glamour Charms for all Occasions’ you won’t have to trouble yourself with messy potions or witty talk anymore!

You’re in love but your sweetheart doesn’t notice you? A quick Beauty Glamour, and she’ll only look at you!

An important speech coming up? A simple Credibility Glamour and everyone will be at your beck and call!

There’s this cool concert in your town but the ticket-seller says you’re too young? Use our Confundus Glamour and all your problems are gone!

But remembers, folks. Don’t let the object of your Glamour out of sight, or the effect will wear off. Don’t forget to renew your charms regularly – ‘Charming Charms: Glamour Charms for all Occasions’ does not provide you with the key to eternal fame. Once you’re dead, your Glamours are also dead!’  
\- Introduction of ‘Charming Charms: Glamour  
Charms for all Occasions’ by Rose Charlatan

+++++

The Forbidden Forest was the biggest magical area in Britain, and one of the biggest of Europe. It was, like Hogwarts, enchanted so that Muggles who found their way into it would find it boring and dull and would suddenly remember something urgent. But it wasn’t only forbidden for underage students and Muggles. The Forbidden Forest was the wizard equivalent of a National Park, and a refuge for many endangered beasts and creatures. But not only magical creatures had their home in the forest. Rare kinds of trees, butterflies that lived nowhere else in Britain, wolves, eagles, extinct species of animals from all over Europe had found their home in the untouched woods.

It was also a dangerous place, for some of the beasts living there could easily kill a wizard. But mostly it was not as dangerous as many students believed it to be. The Marauders had found out that it was mostly safe if you were either fast or small enough to run and hide. Remus couldn’t remember coherently any of the things he did as a wolf, but he knew his share from what the other three had told him, having spent many a full moon roaming around the nightly forest.

They apparated close to one of the highest points of the Forest. For here you could glance all over the Forbidden Forest to Hogwarts. The trees were dark and fiery red and orange, like a sea of fire. In the distance, the castle looked like a painting, beautiful but unreal with its many towers and high walls. A hint of the glistening surface of the Great Lake was to be seen at its foot, and behind it, a suggestion of smoke gave away Hogsmeade. Remus turned around, sniffing the cool air. Unlike the Welsh mountainside, the weather was bright and cool in Scotland. After a while he gave up.

“Nothing. Let’s walk down there, I think I know where the brook we saw in the Pensieve could be.”

Snape followed him, and they climbed down a steep slope, littered with grey boulders and the needles of fir-trees. The ground was wet, and it smelled of mushrooms, fallen leaves, earth and rain. Remus loved these scents. He would have liked to relish in them and forget their mission, but forced himself to focus. Suddenly he noticed another scent, a slightly confusing mix of English tea and animal. He threw Snape a glance but said nothing. A quiet understanding passed between them, there was no need for words. The forest could have eyes and ears.

Remus smiled sadly to himself. If he didn’t look at Snape, he could almost pretend that it was Sirius walking through the wilderness with him. If Snape had been Sirius, this would have been a great adventure. But on the other hand, he could rely on Snape not to do something reckless. There were advantages to both men, yet Remus would have preferred to be with Sirius. Sirius was dead, though, and Snape was here. If Snape had been a friend, Remus would almost have been enjoying this.

A few minutes later he spotted McGonagall shortly between the dark trees, a tiny fleck of grey fur, and gone she was again. Then he perceived the rushing sound of water.

“The brook,” he said and not much later they saw it. He crossed it with a small leap and scented once more. The wild smell of deer and boars, clear water, cat... the smell of cat was very strong, but he couldn’t spot her. Old traces of horses, birds in the trees.. he turned around and suddenly, in the corner of his eye, he got a glimpse of something small and ginger, flitting behind brown trunks. But it was gone before he could discern it, and maybe it had just been falling leaves. And then the wind blew a new scent to him and he forgot it, whatever it had been: the sweet smell of apple blossoms was in the air.

“There!”

He flashed a smile at Snape, but Snape looked grim and was checking their surroundings with mistrustful eyes. He followed Remus as he led them through the last part of Forest, past the scattered grey rocks, closer to tree. Remus could smell it strongly now, but the tree remained invisible, even when he was sure that it should have been in front of their noses. But almost as strongly he smelled a sharp scent of something like a cat, but ten times stronger. The tree was here, and so was their foe.

“I can’t see it,” he said with a frown to Snape, and wished Snape would use his Legilimency on him for once. That was a disadvantage of both Snape and Sirius: they could be terribly insensitive.

“He’s hidden it. Glamours seem to be his speciality,” Snape murmured darkly, and giving no sign that he had understood Remus’ frown, he raised his wand. They both had held them in their hands ever since they had entered the Forest. But before Snape could think of a spell to unveil the hidden tree, another spell was cast.

“Expelliarmus,” a smug voice said, and out of nowhere, Regulus Black appeared, mere feet away from them. Their wands flew out of their hands and into his hand. The tree hadn’t been the only hidden thing in the Forest. Regulus had hidden himself with a Glamour, a neat alternative to an Invisibility cloak. Neither Snape nor Lupin bothered to look surprised at the sudden appearance.

“Thank you for the compliment, Mr Snape,” Regulus said with his smooth voice and put their wands into his pocket while aiming his own wand at them. “Glamours are indeed a favourite of mine.”

Black was looking much like he had when he visited them in prison. Relatively short and lean, with brown hair that had grey and dark honey-coloured streaks in it. He was wearing expensive robes in dark red and gold and a cloak of midnight black. His face was showing a perpetual smile, mask-like and superior, and when he grinned he showed unnaturally sharp teeth. His right foot was stiff from some old injury, but he still managed to walk smoothly.

“Is that all you could come up with, gentlemen? You must have known it was a ploy,” he observed with a tone of disappointment. “Perhaps you saw how hopeless your situation is and came here to be arrested?”

“Certainly not,” Snape hissed. And in the brown grass behind Regulus, Remus spotted a small grey animal, moving soundlessly closer. Now it was time to somehow distract the man.

“You didn’t think we’d make it out of Azkaban, did you?” Remus asked, trying to sound mocking. “You even helped me with your healing spell, thank you very much for that.”

Their eyes met, and for the fraction of a second Regulus didn’t say anything. His face lost the taunting smile and some other emotion emerged. And then he suddenly whirled around on his healthy foot and fired a spell.

McGonagall had turned human again in the same second. The wizard and the witch whipped out their wands and aimed at the same time, but Black was faster than the elderly professor.

“Stupefy!” he yelled and a blast of red light threw her to the ground. She was instantly out cold. Snape used the second of distraction to throw himself at Black, but the man was faster. Before Snape could reach him, a wand was touching his forehead, and Black smiled once more. A small portion of his left arm was uncovered, and they could both the Dark Mark grinning at them.

“That was not very fair, wasn’t it? Attacking me from behind.” He gave Snape a small push with his wand and Snape shrank back from him, grounding his teeth. Their plan had gone horribly wrong, Remus realised. McGonagall was maybe injured, the Stunning Spell seemed to have affected her badly. And now nothing kept Black from handing them over to the Dementors once more. His thoughts raced, while their foe aimed his wand at Snape.

“Incarcerous,” he said, and thick ropes shot out of the tip of his wand, binding Snape tightly.

What could he do? He didn’t have his wand, and Black seemed to possess the reflexes of a wild animal. Remus stared at McGonagall who had collapsed in the grass. There was no chance she would wake up any time soon. And then he saw it.

The ginger cat, bigger than any of his species, was tip-toeing around the unconscious witch’s head, sniffing her face and licking her cheek. He hadn’t seen that pet for more than a year, and yet he recognised him on the spot.

“It is a pity that you came here so soon. It would have provided more entertainment to wait for you until my Lord comes,” Regulus said lazily, pointing his wand at him.

“At Halloween,” Remus said pointlessly. Anything to keep him talking.

“Yes, of course, at Halloween. Poetical justice. The Boy-Who-Lived, defeated on the date of his greatest victory. Dead in the night of the Dead, just like his dear father James!” Regulus spat out the name of Harry’s father with particular venom, just as the spell hit him.

“Petrificus Totalis!” a bright voice rang behind him, and the evil wizard froze. Remus was just as surprised when it happened.

Behind Black, an invisibility cloak dropped into the grass, revealing a young girl. It was Hermione, still pointing her wand at the man she had just petrified. She was looking pale but fierce, first at him, then at her cat and the stunned Professor.

“Hermione!” Remus said gladly and quickly retrieved their wands from Regulus pocket. But then he froze. Hermione was still under Regulus’ spell, he could see her confusion and mistrust. She was frowning, staring at the four people: two frozen by magic, one bound with ropes and Remus staring back at her. Then Crookshanks sauntered over to him, rubbing his head against Remus’ shin. Hermione’s lips twitched and she blinked. He could almost see her thoughts racing. Remus attempted a smile.

“Professor Lupin?” she whispered suddenly, as if waking up from a dream. “Professor Snape? Professor McGonagall?” Her eyes shot back to her Transfigurations Professor lying unconsciously on the ground. Hermione had stunned Regulus even though she had been under his spell, just because he had attacked her favourite Professor. Quickly she bent down to Professor McGonagall and felt for a pulse. Then she looked up at them.

“He’s not on our side, is he?” she asked Remus. He nodded and pulled back Regulus’ left sleeve. The Dark Mark was glowing black. She looked at it, horrified. Then she nodded slowly.

“It made no sense at all.. why didn’t I realise? It made no sense! Crookshanks hated him all the time. And I noticed that he was going into the Forest every day. I was even following him here! I could not see him, but Crookshanks smelled him... but I did not realise!” She was furious at herself.

“Hermione, he was using a Glamour on all of you. It’s not your fault.” Remus tried to soothe her. “Did you follow him alone? Where are Harry and Ron?”

Behind him he could hear Snape shuffling, but he kept his eyes on the girl.

She grimaced. “They wouldn’t listen to me at all. I told them something was wrong. But they wouldn’t listen. You were innocent, of course. How could we believe that you weren’t?”

Now she was miserable. Remus could forgive her easily for what had happened. At least she hadn’t mistrusted him on her own accord. Then he heard Snape clearing his throat impatiently.

“Oh, sorry.” He undid the ropes with a Finite Incantatum and ignored Snape’s glare, then he turned back to Hermione. She was trying to wake McGonagall up. Snape took his wand, stunned Black in addition to the Petrifying Spell and then undid the petrifaction so that he could tie him up. Tugging the ropes tightly against his wrists seemed to satisfy him immensely.

“It’s hit her badly,” the girl worried.

“You should bring her to Madam Pomfrey,” Remus agreed. “We’ll take Black with us. It’s time to find out what is really going on here.”

“I’ll tell Harry,” she promised. “I’ll make sure he believes me this time.”

“We haven’t got time for small-talk, Miss Granger,” Snape interrupted her coldly. “Bring Professor McGonagall to the infirmary, and then stay at Hogwarts. You will not leave the grounds again.”

Hermione, who respected most of her teachers, threw Snape a dark look. “You should be thankful I left the grounds this time, Professor.”

“Be careful, Hermione,” Remus said quickly. “Voldemort will be attacking Hogwarts on Halloween. Try to warn Harry, please.”

“On Halloween?” she asked, looking insecure suddenly. “But what will we do? Dumbledore is gone, and Harry isn’t ready to fight him...”.

“Dumbledore isn’t dead. He will return, we’ll make sure of that,” Remus promised. And she believed him, he saw it on her face. Nothing was as heart-warming as that spark of trust and belief. It gave him hope like nothing else.

“Thank you,” she said. She cast a Lifting Spell on her unconscious Professor and together with her cat, she walked back to the castle. Remus hoped that she would be safe.

“No wonder these brats are so impertinent,” Snape sneered. “With people like you always encouraging them.”

“I just try to provide some balance from you discouraging them,” Remus said with a shrug. “And she just saved our lives.”

They turned back to Black. The smell of apple-blossoms and big cat was just as strong in the air as before. Remus stared wistfully at the forest. They couldn’t do anything as long as they didn’t see Dumbledore and the tree. But at least now they had Regulus Black in their hands.

++++

They brought him to the Eyrie with a portkey, and there they chose one of the two small bathrooms and Remus conjured a pair of handcuffs to shackle his hands to one of the iron pipes above the bathtub, while Snape quickly bound his feet with a rope. The room was the smallest, had no windows and nothing that could be used to escape.

Having done that, the two men stared grimly at their prisoner. He lay in an ungracious heap in the old bathtub, the stupid smirk gone from his face. Only now Remus realised something really strange.

Regulus Black had an almost ashen complexion and the skin of a man past his thirties. His unconscious face seemed tired and wasted, not unlike Sirius, and while he was neither as haggard nor as haunted looking, it gave him the appearance of someone who has lived through many hard years. But his hands were soft and smooth like those of a youth, his lips were still full and there were barely any lines around his mouth and eyes.

Remus did a quick calculation. Sirius’ brother was three years younger than him, which would make him thirty-three. This person, whatever was up with him, was not 33. But then Remus remembered Lockhart. Glamours could do a lot. So he was probably just vain.

“Enervate,” Snape said, and the wizard in the bathtub began to stir. His mouth twitched painfully and he opened his eyes, giving them a heavy-lidded gaze. Then his haughty smile formed once more on his face and he sat up straighter.

“Ah, so you had more than one cat in the grass?”

He leaned back against the wall, eyeing his shackled hands, bound feet and the small cold bathroom. The room had no window, and the furniture consisted of an ancient sink, the bathtub and a small wooden chair. He gave them a smug look.

“And now what?”

Remus wondered how Black had guessed that there had been another cat. Had he just made a joke and involuntarily guessed right?

“Now you’re going to talk,” Snape said, and the cold smile on his face would have scared Remus to death if he had been the one bound and shackled. It wasn’t there on purpose, that smile, it wasn’t for show. No, it almost seemed as if Snape wasn’t even aware that he was smiling.

“Oh, talk.” Regulus gave a haughty laugh. “Let’s talk, sure. You haven’t told me yet how you escaped from Azkaban. Want to give me a tip or two how I can get away from here? I prefer a little more up-level accommodations, you must know.”

Snape, having his arms crossed in front of his chest, tapped his wand against his arm. “You fool. Yes, go on mocking us. But I have ways to make you talk.”

Regulus laughed more. He didn’t look intimidated in the least, and also strangely indifferent to the fact that he had been captured. Remus had the impression that he didn’t buy Snape’s bluff. He seemed to be of the same kind as Bellatrix Lestrange and Barty Crouch Jr., driven by fanatic madness, unaware of their own pain or the pain of others.

“Wands are one way, Black. I know my share of the Dark Arts, be sure of that. But there are also a lot of nice potions. The Dark Lord himself relied greatly on my skill to make people talk. Something that eats you up nicely from the inside, how about that? Something that makes your eyeballs rot away in their sockets?”

“But Severus!” the younger wizard laughed out loudly. He had a surprisingly light voice. “You changed sides, don’t you remember? No torturing captives for you anymore.”

“Do you think so?” Snape raised his wand with deliberate slowness and pointed it directly between the man’s eyes. “Cru-“

Until now, Remus had believed that they were going somewhere along the lines of ‘good cop, bad cop’, but it seemed that Snape wasn’t accustomed to that particular bit of Muggle pop culture either. He quickly put his hand on Snape’s arm.

“Stop it! You can’t do that.”

“I can,” Snape growled, shaking his hand off with an angry motion.

“No, you can’t,” Remus insisted. “Use Veritaserum, if you must, but not that.”

Snape eyed him irately. “You think we’ve got time for morals, Lupin?”

“Morals are not a question of time and leisure, Snape,” he retorted. This was not something he would discuss. He, too, had killed in battle, and once there had been a short moment in which he would have killed in cold blood. But he would never resort to torture. He would not use Cruciatus to make someone talk. He had been a friend of Frank and Alice Longbottom.

Snape gave him a nasty look. “You Gryffindors all think you’re so above everyone else.”

With that he turned on his heel and left the room, presumably to get Veritaserum, but maybe just to sulk. The bathroom door slammed shut behind him.

Remus sighed and sat down on the small chair next to the sink. That had just been a typical example of how Snape just couldn’t let go of schoolboy arguments. Regulus eyed him with undisguised interest.

“He’s true on that, you know? It’s really strange how becoming a Gryffindor can change a person. Suddenly everyone else is either to be pitied or to be hated,” he said with an intimate voice, as if they were having a friendly chat.

Remus looked up. “You’re talking about Sirius,” he realised slowly.

He didn’t really know much about Sirius and his relationship towards his brother. Sirius had always thought of Regulus as weak and stupid and other than the occasional mockery, he had just ignored his ‘little Slytherin brother’. But the man in the bathtub didn’t answer directly.

“Dumbledore was not like that,” Regulus went on. “Didn’t hate people just because of what they were. Always gave second chances.” His expression was sly, as if he were mocking the old wizard, but his voice was very serious. Remus felt his confusion growing.

“And you shamelessly used his trust in you.”

Regulus threw back his head and laughed, but when he stopped, his voice was grave.

“Yes, I did that.”

It was cold in the tiled bathroom, and Remus drew his robes closer around him. Outside it was raining and water gurgled quietly in the pipes.

“Who was that in your vault?” Remus asked all of a sudden. His prisoner winced but kept his eyes fixed on the tips of his shoes. Unlike his robes, they were in bad shape, dirty and chafed as if he hadn’t cared for them at all. It somehow didn’t fit with his otherwise vain behaviour.

“My vault?” he asked, and the lie was evident. He knew what Remus was talking about.

“The Black family crypt. A vault that was broken open, a vault into which a man was laid alive.”

The man shivered, then laughed, but it was a laugh on the verge of madness. “There is no such vault.”

“There is. I’ve seen it myself.”

Again, Regulus tone changed all of a sudden. “Ah, so then I cannot deny it. What can I say? It was all a sham. I’m not dead and this wasn’t my grave. I’m a horrible man, am I not? They call you a beast, Werewolf, but are you not more of a being than I am?”

“I know it was you in that vault. I’ve seen the memory in the Pensieve,” Remus stated flatly, ignoring what had just been said. He wanted to see the man’s reaction.

“The darkness! The wails of terror! Of course, this was the vault. What else could it have been. You’ve seen it. You know what it is like. It couldn’t have been a trick, a darkened room and a piece of acting, could it? Because Pensieves convey feelings so very well,” Regulus replied with raised eyebrows. “You’re a very believing man, Remus.”

A bit of irritation added itself to Remus’ confusion. He couldn’t tell whether the man was lying or being honest, whether he was serious or constantly mocking him. Perhaps he was just plain mad. This wasn’t getting him anywhere.

Regulus, on the other hand, was trying not to shiver. They had taken off his cloak before putting him into the bathtub, and now he was cold in his expensive but thin robes.

“Where are we?” the younger man complained. “Iceland?”

Remus didn’t reply. Their prisoner needn’t know where he was. Instead he asked another thing that had puzzled him from the start.

“You were enchanting all of us. Otherwise we would never have believed us.”

“My teacher was one of the best,” Regulus replied with an evil grin.

“Maybe. But even if Lord Voldemort himself was your teacher, why weren’t you able to deceive Snape and me?”

The corner of Regulus’ lip twitched. “You haven’t figured it out already? It’s because Snape is an Occlumens,” he said that word with particular derision, “and you’re a Werewolf.”

“I don’t see why being a Werewolf affects that.”

“Why, you’re special, Remus! So special. Being a werewolf makes you special, you knew that, didn’t you? After all, it was why Sirius liked you and everyone cared about you at all.”

“That’s not true,” Remus answered in a firm voice. Yes, he had once thought so as well. He had forever been insecure because of this nagging suspicion that they were only interested in him because of his nature. But that wasn’t true. Sirius had still been his friend even when they weren’t boys anymore, even after Azkaban and all those years. It had been a true friendship and Remus didn’t doubt that anymore.

“Are you sure?” For the first time, Regulus sounded slightly irritated. He tugged at the handcuffs. His left sleeve dropped down further, fully revealing the Dark Mark on his arm. It was black as fresh ink and looked worse than any Mark Remus had ever seen. Regulus bared his teeth in a hideous grin.

“Give it up, Lupin. You’re not going to make me talk. Even Snape with his Veritaserum isn’t. I am loyal to my master until death!”  
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Legilimency by Wintermute  
Note: Yay, A-levels are over, I'm back among the writing. I was a bit surprised that you all liked Hermione's appearance in the last chapter, I thought it was a bit deus ex machina. Well, then you'll probably believe the bit of wandless magic that Regulus performs in this chapter, too...

Thanks to my beta, rambkowalczyk!

 

12 Legilimency

Confused and frustrated, Remus left the bathroom and their obnoxious prisoner to get a few moments of rest. He also decided to look for Snape, who had not yet come back. Of course confronting an angry Snape conflicted with his wish for rest, but he had to have priorities.

He couldn’t afford to make a mistake now, so to be one hundred percent certain that Regulus could not escape, he Stunned him before he left.

Snape wasn’t in the drawing room, nor was he in the kitchen. On the little square kitchen table where they had eaten breakfast he had set up a small potions lab, with a miniature glass cauldron. But the Potions Master himself was nowhere to be seen.

Remus started to make tea, the Muggle way, because the slow boiling and the measuring of the tea-leaves with a spoon was far more comforting and calming that just conjuring a cup of ready made tea. The kettle was just beginning to whistle when Snape entered the kitchen, his black robes covered in grey dust and cobwebs. He was carrying an old carton and several small wooden boxes, each about the size of a shoebox. He put them on the table in a wave of stale dust.

“What are these?” Remus asked in surprise.

“Some of Dumbledore’s old stacks. He had been an alchemist’s apprentice for years, he would keep some of these things at home,” Snape said. His voice didn’t betray any of his earlier aggression. In fact it was even and neutral.

He started to unpack the boxes and soon the table was littered with vials and tiny pill boxes, dried substances and sleazy liquids that Remus didn’t recognise. Snape seemed to be satisfied, though.

“I found them in the attic.”

“Well, I doubt if he’ll complain about you borrowing them. What are you brewing? Veritaserum?”

Snape grimaced disdainfully. “Veritaserum takes a full moon cycle to mature, as you should well know. A simpler Truth Serum will have to do.”

“I don’t know,” Remus said, wrapping his cold fingers around the teacup. “Maybe I should just have let you done whatever it was you wanted to do... I could have left the room, you know. No one would have asked about it. No one would have even cared, except for me.”

Snape didn’t answer him for quite a while. He worked on the potion with an expression of concentration, devoting his full attention to the Truth Serum. When he left it to boil, he turned around and carefully washed his hands in the sink.

“I’d say he doesn’t deserve your mercy, Lupin, but I’m not an expert in these things,” Snape said, scrubbing his fingers vigorously. Remus couldn’t tell if the other man was being sarcastic or serious.

“He probably doesn’t deserve it,” Remus admitted. But as he said it, he realised that he didn’t feel that way. There was something about their enemy that made him pity the man. He had tried to suppress these feelings, as he suspected that he only felt that way because the man resembled Sirius so much. But he couldn’t help it. While he hated the things Regulus had done, he felt pity for him.

Snape turned off the water and started to dry his hands, taking more time than necessary. His voice still had that strangely even tone. “Would I deserve mercy, were I a captive?”

Remus looked up in surprise. In all the time they had spent together, be it in Azkaban or the Order, Snape had never said anything that even hinted at guilt. Bitterness, or maybe something akin to regret... but never guilt. He turned around and Remus could now see his face. Despite his even voice, Snape’s expression was hard and remote. Remus tried to say something. He wanted to say ‘yes, you deserve it’, but he hesitated and the other man answered for him, his tone as harsh as his face.

“I do not expect mercy, though. Only fools and innocents expect mercy and only those can show mercy.”

Snape moved swiftly over to the table and resumed his brewing. He stirred the clear liquid in the glass cauldron. Acid steams rose from it. “This will take 12 hours. If it doesn’t work, we’ll resort to other methods.”

++++

Remus returned to the bathroom. He should have taken a book with him, he thought, as he settled down on the small chair. Regulus, still Stunned, lay limply in the bathtub. His head lolled against his chest and Remus barely saw his face. Strangely now, he didn’t resemble Sirius. After Azkaban, Sirius had always been tense, always nervous, always on the verge of slipping into a darker, more dangerous mood... Sirius had been unstable and intense, hurt and hurtful when he didn’t keep himself in check for the sake of the kids.

This explained why Regulus now resembled Sirius so much more when he was awake. It was the tension, the instability, the intensity. Remus found himself longing to talk to the man some more. He had his hand already on his wand. This isn’t Sirius, he told himself. He isn’t at all like Sirius. But he still wanted to talk with him.

“Enervate.”

Instantly, Regulus’ head jerked up. He hit the wall behind him and winced, unable to rub the bruise as his hands remained shackled.

“What’s this, Lupin?” he muttered. “Subtle torture? Another round of question the captive? You know, you’re supposed to respect my dignity. I don’t think that includes Stunning me whenever you don’t need me...”.

“Snape is brewing Truth Serum. Soon enough you will tell us how to wake Dumbledore.” Remus willed his voice to sound hard and cool.

“Why doesn’t he try Legilimency if he’s so good at it?” Regulus snapped.

Remus frowned. “Who told you that Snape is a Legilimens?” It wasn’t common knowledge; at least it hadn’t been so far. Of course, Lord Voldemort might have guessed if he had access to Harry’s mind, but Remus severely doubted that Dumbledore would have risked exposing Snape that way.

“How do you know I’m not one myself?” Regulus he asked in a cocky voice.

“I don’t think so. So, how do you know?”

“Dumbledore told me. Just wouldn’t shut up about it. Snape is a Legilimens! Snape is an Occlumens! He can lie to the Dark Lord and nobody notices, isn’t that great? He’s so clever, too, such a great spy...” the younger man ranted. He seemed to hate Snape with a vicious passion. “But he’s not that great, is he? Can’t get into my mind now, the master spy!”

Remus nodded calmly. “Why can’t he?”

“My mind belongs to the Dark Lord,” Regulus replied cryptically. Remus realised that his questions had hit another wall. He fell silent, not knowing how to proceed.

The minutes passed by in excruciating silence. It was clammy and cold in the little bathroom and Remus counted the hours they’d already lost. It was past six now and in another ten hours they would perhaps learn how to wake Dumbledore up.

He got up and directed his wand at the man in the bathtub. Regulus returned his look impassively. His eyes were blank and emotionless, no more human than the eyes of a corpse. Remus Stunned him, wondering why he hadn’t let Snape use the Cruciatus Curse. Did it really matter how they forced him to talk whether by potions or by using the Unforgivables?

He left the room and joined Snape in the kitchen. The potion was brewing quietly in the glass cauldron. It had the rusty-red colour of dried blood. A bowl of black rooster feathers stood next to it, smelling of dead chickens.

“Well?” asked Snape, who sat at the table, watching the potion.

“Nothing.” Remus leaned against the cold stove. “He’s insane, if you ask me. Stark raving mad.”

Snape raised his brows at him but didn’t answer. The kitchen was gloomy and dark except for the bluish flame under the cauldron. It was as if Snape had brought the Slytherin dungeons with him to this place.

“Couldn’t you try Legilimency?”

“He’s probably an Occlumens. He managed to deceive the headmaster,” Snape answered with a shrug.

“No, he isn’t. He just told me so.”

Snape stared at him in disbelief, then this expression turned sour. “It doesn’t matter. Legilimency is no better than the Cruciatus Curse, and you wouldn’t want that, would you.”

“No better? Why does Dumbledore use it, then? He even let you use it on Harry,” Remus objected. After what Snape had told him about Voldemort’s way of abusing his Legilimency powers, Remus could understand what Snape was trying to say, but after all, they would not use it like that, would they?

“It depends on your point of view... or perhaps your tastes,” Snape replied with an edge of dark amusement. “Some prisoners might prefer having their mind violated, but I would always choose Cruciatus, if I were in the same situation.”

Remus nodded. “You’re probably right.”

Snape started sorting through the boxes he had brought from the attic. They contained all sorts of ingredients that didn’t mean a thing to Remus.

“It’s different with Dumbledore,” Snape said unexpectedly. “He’s far better at Legilimency than I am. For one thing, he doesn’t need a wand or an incantation to do it. Just like with the Dark Lord, eye contact suffices for him. And he can look specifically at the things he wants to look at. He doesn’t drag up all the rest.”

Remus’ thoughts drifted off to Regulus, then to Harry, then back to Snape. He had questions on his mind but it was difficult to formulate them now.

“Legilimency, Occlumency... they’re not arts that can usually be taught, are they? You must have some talent for it, right?”

Snape nodded. “Occlumency can be trained, but not actually taught. It’s a matter of control over your mind. Most people who have a natural talent at Occlumency have developed it as some kind of self-defence. People like Potter, who throw their feelings at everyone who comes their way don’t learn it easily.”

“So you didn’t teach Harry badly out of spite?”

“It’s hard to do anything not out of spite when it comes to Potter,” was the sour reply. “But yes, he is also naturally incompetent at it. And control over your mind is also not an art best learned at fifteen.”

++++

It was about four in the morning on October the 28th when the potion was finally ready. Remus and Snape, who had stayed awake throughout the night, didn’t waste anymore time. They went into the bathroom, lifted the Stunning Spell and showed Black the potion.

“We can force you to drink this,” Snape said, sounding hopeful.

Regulus sneered. “I’m sure you can, Severus.”

Snape grabbed Black’s chin and forced his mouth open with the vial. Their captive stared at him with the cold vicious rage of an animal, but he opened his mouth and drank. Snape let go of him and threw the vial into the sink. He washed his hands while Remus watched Regulus. At first there seemed to be no effect at all. Then the younger man started to shudder, he closed his eyes and bared his teeth in a grimace of pain. He groaned and convulsed, banged his head against the tiles and quickly broke into a sweat. Again, the smell of cat became overpowering in the small room.

Snape looked down at him in disgust. “Black!” he barked, trying to get his attention.

Regulus’ head lolled from side to side, but he managed to tilt it up and open his eyes a little bit. Beads of sweat ran down his face like tears.

“How can the Merlin’s Tree spell be lifted?” Snape asked loudly.

The shackled man made a horrible sound, half retching half growling. Snape repeated his question. A spasm went through the body in the tub, then Regulus suddenly went limp. A crease appeared between Snape’s dark brows.

“He’s withstood it.”

Remus felt nauseous. The room smelled of fear and pain and of rotten things. For the last few minutes, Regulus had barely looked human. Was this what he looked like when he transformed into a werewolf, Remus wondered.

“The reaction was strange,” Snape observed. He didn’t look sympathetic in the least. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”

++++

It was half past eight when the man in the bathtub woke again. He looked ruffled and almost filthy now, but he quickly regained his composure. His hair was tangled like the tawny mane of a lion and his eyes had taken on an almost yellow hue.

“I told you,” he said, looking exclusively at Remus. “It won’t work. It might do me in, though, if you try that again.”

“Can he be physically immune against Truth Serum?” Remus asked Snape, ignoring their prisoner. Snape let his gaze wander over the chained man.

“There are antidotes, but they have to be taken immediately before or after one drinks Truth Serum. No, I think he withstood it by will-force.”

Regulus looked at Snape, but he said nothing. His expression was tight and strained, and more sane looking that Remus had seen him since they caught him. The defiance and mockery Black had shown before was gone. Remus scratched his cheek, asking himself how they should proceed. He ought to shave, he noticed dimly, and then his eyes darted back to Regulus’ face. No stubble, not the slightest bit. No sign of hunger or thirst, for almost twenty hours now. He hadn’t asked to use the toilet. He had complained about the cold, but had he ever shivered or had goosebumps on his bare arms? No.

Remus got up and came closer to Regulus. The man had had his hands tied above his head for such a long time... shouldn’t he have complained about that?

Suddenly Snape whipped out his wand and pointed it at Regulus.

“Legilimens!”

Regulus stared up at the two men standing in front of him, with much the same indifferent expression as before. But Remus noticed a spark of defiance growing again in those eyes, almost daring them to do this. What was wrong with Regulus? His thoughts raced. Of course, he suddenly realised. Of course! It all added up to... Regulus was... he got out his wand.

Snape and Black still stared at each other in a mute duel of willpower. Remus raised his free hand, wanted to warn Snape.

“Don’t –“

But suddenly Snape winced, and a shiver went through his whole body, starting from his head, down his arms and torso, until he stumbled backwards, clutching his forehead and then his chest as if he were having a heart-attack. Remus grabbed his arm, but Snape was unexpectedly heavy and for a moment they lost their balance, swaying first against the bathtub and then back against the wall. Remus let go of his wand, otherwise it would have been crushed between him and the wall.

Snape grabbed Remus’ shirt, a crazed expression on his face and then he bit his lip, so hard that drops of blood welled up beneath his teeth. Blood also came from his nose. Snape screamed and Regulus shouted something.

“Severus!” Remus grabbed the hand with which Snape was still clutching his own wand. “Stop it! He’s dead! He’s dead Severus, stop it!”

He heard the whispered spell too late, and turned to face Regulus’ devious smile, Regulus, who had freed himself with Remus wand, which he had accioed, Regulus, who was –

The world froze suddenly and faded.  
Back to index  
Dead Things by Wintermute  
The second to last chapter (and yes, the title is stolen from a Buffy episode for no reason)! Finally, things begin to make sense...

Betaed by the infinitely patient rambkowalczyk

 

13 Dead Things

For a long time, Remus wasn’t aware that he was awake. The darkness and silence around him was so complete that his thoughts remained heavy and empty as in deep sleep.

Only when the multitude of small lights started to glow and illuminate the cavern, he realised that he had been awake for some time. He was resting on a perfectly smooth stone that felt like hard silk under his palms. To his surprise, he was neither bound nor paralysed. He felt for his wand, but it was gone.

Around him, the jagged walls of the cave rose like a gothic cathedral until they ended about fifty feet above, in what seemed at first sight to be an enchanted ceiling not unlike the one at the Great Hall of Hogwarts. However it showed not the sky but a strange, translucent surface that rippled and moved like some kind of fluid.

Remus sat up and vertigo overcame him. He felt dizzy and weak as a kitten. How much time had gone by since... what had happened? He remembered something urgent that he had to tell Snape. Snape, who was in a bathroom with him – and Regulus Black. Snape tried Legilimency, to find out how to wake up Dumbledore. Remus remembered that there was something important that he needed to tell Snape but his dizziness made it hard to think.

Because the vertigo remained, he didn’t try to stand up but he looked around to find out where he was.

The cavern itself was rather narrow, but very long, and the far end of it vanished in twilight and shadows.

But the cave was not empty. There were huge, high-backed chairs and an oval table of dark wood, and some of the walls were obscured by ancient tapestries. Another wall was carved into a shelf that held thousands of books and scrolls. Only a few feet from where Remus lay, a single column rose out of the ground.

The small lights were neither candles nor the artificial light of magic, but came from the leaves and buds of a vine-like plant that crept up the stone walls and along the floor in filigree coils and curls. The colour ranged from soft purple to a green-golden glow and it pulsed very slightly as if following a slow heartbeat.

The solemnity and beauty of the room was marred by the many things that were crammed chaotically into it. On the oval table, for example, lay two swords, a couple of mirrors, daggers and goblets, several gems, rings and bracelets, a patched hat that Remus recognised as the Sorting Hat and a couple of valises and boxes. All objects radiated strong magic. Against the walls, shrouded portraits were stapled. Two tall mirrors were also half hidden by cloth.

But the most disconcerting thing was the assortment of beings and creatures that stood in the room like lifeless statues: all four of the Hogwarts ghosts along with Peeves and several minor and less corporeal ghosts stood in paralysed poses next to each other, followed by a Centaur, a couple of large spiders in jars, Mrs Norris, Hermione’s kneazle and Hagrid’s huge dog, Fang.

They were real and alive; Remus could smell them (except for the ghosts, of course). They just didn’t move. When one of the figures did move, Remus jumped in startled surprise.

A man walked out of the shadow and came closer to him. It was Regulus, clothed in a hooded Death Eater cloak. He walked slowly and dragged his crippled foot more than usual.

“Five hours to midnight,” he announced in a flat voice. Then he seized one of the golden goblets and offered it to Remus.

“Drink. There’s no need to poison you now,” he said with a sardonic smile.

Remus frowned and took the goblet from him. It felt warm and alive under his touch. He still felt too weak to get up from the floor. The goblet was full of a steaming liquid that smelled sweet and salty and sour all at once. It was dark red, but more like wine than like blood. Regulus still smiled.

“What day is it?” Remus asked suspiciously.

“The thirty-first of October,” Regulus answered and the smile spread into a full grin. “Halloween. Tonight the castle will fall to its enemies and the enemy of the Dark Lord will be vanquished.”

Indeed, there was no need to poison him. The vertigo returned with renewed vigour. Helplessly, Remus sipped at the goblet and discovered that he had never tasted anything that was as heart-warming and nourishing as this. What is this, he wondered irreverently, the Holy Grail?

He got up and put the goblet onto the table. It was still every bit as full as before. He glanced around the room once more.

“Where are we?”

“Deep under Hogwarts. This is the fundament, the heart of the castle. Since the day of the founders, no one has known of it or entered it, even though there are passages that lead here from many places. No one, except for my teacher.”

“Your teacher. The one who taught you how to weave Glamours complex enough to deceive even Albus Dumbledore?”

Regulus laughed harshly. “The very one.”

It made sense. This was probably a part of the Chamber of Secrets. From Harry, he had heard about the Chamber and its connection to Lord Voldemort. So Regulus’ teacher was Voldemort.

“Why are all these things here? What did you do to the ghosts and the others?"

“They were threats,” Regulus replied. His voice had suddenly lost all emotion and sounded slack and dead. “Threats, all of them. Magical objects of great power, the guardians of the castle – threats, all of them. They were caught by my spell and frozen by it. Down here, they can do nothing to serve the castle.”

But two threats seem to be missing. “Where is Fawkes?” Remus demanded. “And where is Snape?”

“Fawkes is with Dumbledore,” Regulus said flatly. “Sleeping, no danger. Snape is dead.”

“Dead.” All the warmth from the strange drink left him instantly along with his will to go on. He only wanted to black out again.

“He lay on the floor, all still after he tried to read my mind. Possibly dead. No threat. I left him behind,” Regulus went on in the same dead voice. Remus found that the icy grip of fear gave him free and he could think again. Suddenly he remembered the most important thing.

“You are dead!”

Regulus remained still as a statue. He stared into the distance with unseeing eyes, his arms hanging slackly at his side. “Dead things,” he whispered. “From the grave, from the earth. Eating death, breathing death, bringing death...”

Remus glanced down the far end of the cave. Regulus seemed lifeless and mad. If he ran now, he might escape. But where did the cave lead? And Regulus was sly, he might only be faking his madness. His eyes darted towards the table. There lay two swords. His chances were good that an undead being like Regulus would genuinely die if he beheaded him. It worked with vampires and most zombies. But what good would a dead Regulus do? Remus still needed to know how Merlin’s Sleep could be undone.

“We were wrong,” Remus said instead. “You weren’t put alive into your grave. Somebody has raised you from your death.”

He, a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, should have realised it much sooner. The signs were all there: he had a strange smell, he had no need to consume food or drink, his hair didn’t grow, and his blood didn’t circulate.

Remus didn’t know much about Necromancy, the art of raising or talking to the dead, but he was quite familiar with some of creatures of Necromancy: vampires and zombies. Regulus, was neither a vampire nor a zombie, but something similar. But there were some things that puzzled Remus. A zombie for example usually didn’t have free will. The Necromancer had full control over his creatures. Did that apply to Regulus? The man seemed to act fairly autonomously.

It certainly would solve the mystery of the blurry Pensieve images. The memories from before Regulus’ death would be blurry because Regulus was under a form of mind-control. Something about these particular memories from before Regulus’ death contradicted the orders of the Necromancer. That made sense in so far as Regulus had been killed by Death Eaters. Before he died, he hadn’t been loyal to Voldemort anymore.

But why had Regulus put them in the Pensieve together with the bait that led them to the tree? That made no sense at all.

“I was called to serve, from beyond the grave,” Regulus suddenly said and started to walk away a few steps before he stopped again.

“Why are you telling me this?” Remus asked.

And why did he put the memories in the Pensieve? Why had he healed Remus’ cold in Azkaban, why where all his lies so transparent? Why had Hermione not been under his spell? Why hadn’t he killed Snape when he could? Why was he given that invigorating drink?

But before Remus could ask the next question, Regulus whirled around and hit him with surprising strength. Remus slammed into the next wall and sagged to the ground. Beneath him he felt the glowing vines crush like fine glass.

Regulus was standing above him, and his features looked alive again. The bright madness had returned to his face and Remus now realised what had seemed so wrong about this face before: it was not the face of a man of thirty-three, but the face of a youth, no older than eighteen.

But his boyish features were distorted by malice and raving insanity.

With nervous hands, Regulus undid the clasp that held his cloak together at his collarbones and it fell to the floor. Underneath it, he wore clothes that sent Remus into a state of shock.

A faded black Muggle jeans too long for the dead young man, torn below the left knee. A belt of worn-out leather. A black, sleeveless shirt that was meant to be tight but loosely around his pale, emaciated body.

And, in the gloomy room, with the dim lights behind him, Remus was looking at Sirius, Sirius at age twenty. Remus gasped and bit his lips painfully.

“Do you like it?” Regulus whispered in a flat voice. “Do you like me?”

And Sirius – Regulus dropped to his knees a bit ungracefully next to Remus and grabbed a small letter opener from the folds of his cloak.

“Where did you get these clothes?” Remus forced himself to ask.

“At home.” Sirius’ brother studied the thin blade and then slowly pressed it against Remus’ jugular. It was almost warm, it didn’t seem dangerous, but Remus felt a tingle of silver on his skin. And the hand on the blade was shaking too much for his taste.

“Call me Sirius,” the young man demanded softly, almost gently.

The soft voice and the shadowy face that looked so much like Sirius sent cold shivers down Remus’ neck. For a moment he was almost tempted to comply and call him by his brother’s name – what difference did names make to two dead men, really – but then he stopped himself.

“You’re Regulus.”

“Call me Sirius!”

Regulus might kill him. There was not much Remus could do to prevent that.

“Why? Do you really want to be Sirius? Wouldn’t you rather want me to call you a friend?”

Regulus’ eyes, inches from his face, were wide and dark. Slowly, he backed away, sitting back on the floor and shivering.

The dead young wizard raised his left arm and pressed the letter opener into his palm. He dragged it down the wrist and deep into the flesh, over the Dark Mark, up to the crook of his elbow, like someone trying to slash his. But nothing happened. There came no blood, even though the cut was deep. Instead, a horrible stench of dirt and decay rose from the wound. And then, very slowly, a dark, clotted liquid oozed from the cut. It clung to the white skin like thick oil and finally dripped onto the floor.

Regulus didn’t even look at the wound. His face was open and confused as he blinked and rocked back and forth.

“From the earth, from the grave...” he whimpered.

Then he suddenly bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut. It seemed to take all his strength to first turn his face away and then shake his head. Remus edged away from him and got up. But as suddenly as it had begun, the attack of madness seemed gone.

Regulus opened his eyes, looked at his wounded arm where the flesh was already mending itself and grimaced with obvious distaste. Then he picked up his cloak and wrapped it around himself, thankfully hiding Sirius’ old clothes.

He walked over to the table and perched on its edge.

“The Dark Lord has raised my corpse. Sordid affair, that. Dig a trench, six feet deep, the size of a man. Fill it with blood from black sheep and an animal of your choice. Invoke the spirit of the animal. Pour libations around the trench. Invoke the spirit of the dead man. And his body, wherever it rests, will crawl back to life, filled with the blood from dead beasts... do you know what it was?”

Remus, still shaken by the display of madness, didn’t ask. Regulus seemed not to care.

“A lion. A bloody lion, because it was the vilest animal the Dark Lord could think of.” Regulus grinned, a facial expression that would have served well as a threat.

“So that’s why you’re smelling of big cat. It confused me, back in the forest,” Remus thought aloud.

“Ah, yes. Before the little Mudblood Stunned me.”

Angry about the derogatory expression, Remus didn’t notice the significance of that statement at first, but when he did, he frowned suspiciously.

“Hold on. How did you know it was Hermione who Stunned you?”

“I knew the girl followed me into the forest every day.”

“And you never stopped her?”

“She’s just a girl. A student. She was no threat.” As he said this, Regulus’ voice sounded flat and dead again. But his eyes remained bright and almost expectant. Remus slowly began to understand.

“Well, she was a threat,” he replied a bit tersely. “And I don’t quite buy it that you didn’t know that before.”

Regulus said nothing, but a faint smile appeared on his lips. So far, Remus could make out three different personas: insane Regulus, who looked like a child and babbled about blood and graves, Death Eater Regulus, who mocked and taunted him all the time and this serious, more grown-up version, who was prone to mysterious silences and unreadable looks. It was all very confusing but it began to make sense to him. The key was to ask the right questions, and, if Regulus didn’t answer, to supply the right answers himself.

“You knew Hermione was there and you knew she might pose a threat. She’s an apt witch for her age; that could not have escaped your attention. She had thrown off your Popularity Glamour or whatever it was. And you left Snape lying there, even though he might very well not be dead. What about that? And you cured my cold in Azkaban. Why did you do that?”

“Little mistakes,” Regulus replied with a wave of his left hand. But his eyes remained deadly serious. “It doesn’t matter. Everything is working according to the plan. Everything is all right. None of you were threats.”

Remus paused, trying to analyse what he had guessed so far. ‘Threats’. Regulus was saying that word again and again. What was its significance?

Regulus was undead. Voldemort had revived him, probably because he needed Regulus’ special abilities in the field of Glamours. But before his death, Regulus had tried to leave the Death Eaters. It was possible that in the scene inside the Pensieve, he had been talking to Dumbledore and asking for help. Now Regulus was back from the dead, which seemed to be a most traumatic experience, and he was probably less than willing to serve Voldemort. But he couldn’t shake off the mind-control of the Necromancy, which was far stronger than an Imperius curse.

How did that control work? Was it possible to undermine it?

Obviously, it wasn’t perfect. Regulus was making little mistakes all the time, mistakes that were too obvious to be anything but deliberate. The hilarious cover-up story about Sirius, the lion and the zoo, for example. Regulus could have invented something more convincing but he hadn’t.

There must have been some kind of order that Voldemort had given Regulus.

“Tonight, you’ll see your master again,” Remus said. A smile flashed over Regulus face.

“Tonight we will be reunited, my real master and I.”

“You haven’t seen him for some time.”

“No.”

Possibly not since Regulus had been reanimated and given his orders. How specific were these orders?

“And you have fulfilled his plan.” Remus felt his fingers itch with anticipation. Regulus looked equally tense. He opened his mouth and closed it again.

“A wonderful, elegant plan,” he finally breathed.

Elegant, Remus thought. Elegant but not flawless. The choice of words was telling. The orders must have been something like this: ‘Go to Hogwarts and enchant the teachers, students and Order members. Use Merlin’s Sleep on Dumbledore. Wait until Halloween.’ And: ‘Eliminate all possible threats to the plan.’ And that was the flaw of this order! Voldemort had left it to Regulus to estimate what he thought a ‘threat’ was. Remus nervously licked his lips.

“You were the only Death Eater who could fulfil this plan. Why? If Voldemort taught you all you knew, he could have taught it to someone else, someone who was loyal to him.”

Regulus eyes widened, but not in surprise. He seemed to wait for Remus to go on.

“Voldemort wasn’t your teacher, was he? But who could it be, then? Someone who knows this cave underneath Hogwarts. Someone who knows magic as old as Merlin’s Sleep.”

Regulus turned around and seized something that lay on the table: a small silver instrument. He seemed to play with it disinterestedly, but Remus understood. He sighed in relief.

“Dumbledore. Dumbledore was your teacher. But why? You were a Death Eater, why would he teach a Death Eater the means to deceive just about anyone?”

Regulus put away the silver instrument and said in a light tone: “Three hours to midnight, Lupin. Why do you even care? Soon you’ll be deader than I am.”

Just as he said this, he picked up the old Sorting Hat, turned it around and let go of it. Remus racked his brain for the meaning of this tiny hint but the only thing he came up with was McGonagall, saying: ‘He hasn’t worn this hat for at least sixteen years.’

“That’s it! You were really young when you entered the Death Eaters, weren’t you? Still a student, it seems. And yet you received the Dark Mark so early, while people like Snape had to earn it. Why? The talk with Dumbledore you showed us in the Pensieve – that wasn’t after you left the Death Eaters, but before you even joined them.” He paused for breath.

“I served detention.”

But Remus didn’t let himself be distracted. Finally he had understood. “You hate Snape. You don’t know Occlumency, but he does. He became a spy just after you died.”

“That traitor,” Regulus spat, but his face had become flushed and sweaty, just as it had when Snape had forced him to drink the Truth Serum.

Remus took a deep breath. “You were Dumbledore’s spy before Snape.”

Regulus started shaking and shivering all over his body, but he remained unable to answer even with a nod or a shake of his head. Remus had a theory. The mind control of the necromancy worked a lot like the Imperius: instead of simply forcing a person to do something, it changed that person’s perception of the truth so far that the orders he or she was given became the natural, right thing to do. Regulus now had two truths inside his head: one told him that he was a loyal Death Eater and wanted to serve his master. The other, hidden under layers of madness, said that he was a free man, a friend of Dumbledore, who hated the Dark Lord for what he had done to him.

Regulus couldn’t act against the orders he had been given. He couldn’t even admit to himself that he wanted to act against them. All defiance had to happen behind layers of lies and deception. But he was a master of deception, educated by Dumbledore. Regulus Black was good enough to deceive the enemy within.

He could not tell Remus about the truth, but he could drop hints. And the closer Remus came to uncovering the full truth, the less power had Voldemort over the man. He was very close to it, but something still lacked, something that was the key to freeing Regulus.

But what?

“Dumbledore saw that you were talented. He taught you all he knew about Glamours because you couldn’t master the art of Occlumency. It was enough for you to enter the ranks of the Death Eaters. But then – something happened. You were discovered. How?”

But Regulus was calming down once more, the shivering was almost gone. Remus bit his tongue. He was loosing against the mind control!

“You were discovered and killed. Years later, you were revived.” Remus started retelling the whole story as far as he knew it so far. But the dead man got calmer and calmer.

“It drives you mad to be such a monster, doesn’t it? It was horrible to wake up in that tiny vault. Before, when you showed my Sirius’ clothes –“

With an anguished howl that was more animal than man, Regulus dropped to the floors. His hands raked over the stone like claws. Without thinking, Remus started forwards and tried to keep Black from hurting himself by grabbing his wrists and pressing them down.

“What? What is it? Sirius?” A sob escaped Regulus and he fell still under Remus’ hands.

“Sirius. Something about Sirius. Sirius is dead, is that it? No?” Remus gently touched the faded black of Sirius’ shirt under his younger brother’s Death Eater cloak.

“You admired your older brother. Of course you did. Sirius was brilliant. Who doesn’t admire his older brother? And then he became a Gryffindor and he didn’t talk to you anymore. That hurt. You wanted him to acknowledge you. You wanted to be like him – that was why you became a spy!”

All the tension faded from the thin body under his hands. Slowly, Regulus opened his eyes. Unlike his blood, his tears were completely human.

“He – he would be proud now, wouldn’t he?”

Remus tried his best to smile. “Yes, he would be. I would be, if I were him.”

Regulus got to his feet a bit awkwardly with Remus’ help. For a moment, the steady pulsing of light from the vines along the walls was interrupted by a nervous flicker. Something was happening, but Remus wasn’t sure whether it was Regulus or the castle or something else.

“I had hoped that when I died, Dumbledore would tell my brother what I had done. That was the last thing I thought before they killed me. That Sirius would realise that I was also brave. But I wasn’t. Unlike Snape, I wasn’t able to kill and torture to keep up my cover as a spy.”

“Killing people isn’t brave. You did the right thing.”

“No, I didn’t. If I had stayed alive, I would have helped Sirius. I would have proved his innocence, I know I would.”

There was nothing Remus could say against that, he least of all. He had done nothing to save Sirius. But the younger Black seemed to gather his last reserves of strength. He picked up the silver instrument he had been playing with before.

“Half an hour to midnight,” he murmured. “Close, but not too late.”

“What do we have to do?”

“Kill me.”

Remus didn’t say ‘but you are already dead.’ There was many ways to make an undead person deader than before. Instead he asked: “Why?”

“Because I am a monster. Every second of this parody of life kills my soul. I long for death. Sever my head and burn the corpse. And for Merlin’s sake, don’t put the ashes into that bloody vault or my ghost will haunt you.”

Regulus had picked up a sword with a huge red ruby on its handle. The sword of Gryffindor. “And because as soon as I die, all Glamours and spells on Hogwarts, its people and Dumbledore will cease to exist. Hurry. The Dark Lord is already arriving. I can feel him approaching.”

Remus took the sword. The steel was surprisingly light which shouldn’t have surprised him. How else could a twelve-year-old boy have wielded it? The dim glow of the vines made the blade shine in a soft golden hue.

In all his life, he had never killed a man. A ridiculous fear seized him. What if he did it wrongly? What if he only hurt Regulus instead of killing him with the sword?

Regulus raised his eyes to the ceiling of the cave. The glittering liquid surface above their heads was now distorted by many tiny waves: it looked like someone was walking across it. Death Eaters? The Dark Lord himself?

“I’m free,” Regulus said loudly into the silence. “I’m a free man.”

With as much strength as he could muster, Remus swung the terrible, swift sword.

Back to index  
The Once And Future King by Wintermute  
Note: That's it, folks. The end, and just in time for HPB. This story started as a crack idea and I never expected it to evolve this far or to be so popular. Thanks to you, mugglenet, and my betareader rambkowalczyk! I'll miss this.

(The title of this chapter is also the title of a book by T.H. White. The Once and Future King is King Arthur).

 

14 The Once And Future King

Remus didn't even dare to open his eyes, as he really didn't want to look at the body of a beheaded man who looked altogether too much like Sirius. So he started by staring numbly at the vine-covered walls of the cavern. He lowered his gaze until he saw the sword. He realised that he was still gripping it far too tightly but he felt unable to do anything about it. There was no blood on the gleaming blade, just a murky smudge of something tar-like.

Remus wasn't squeamish. He was a man who was used to having his skeleton rearranged once every month, a man who was used to terrible wounds. A few days ago he had been able to bite off one of his own fingers. But he really didn't want to look at Regulus’ body. And yet he did, feeling that he owed that much to Regulus.

It was a mistake.

Clamping a hand over his mouth in shock, he stumbled backwards, almost knocking over one of the chairs by the table and then turned around to hurry away. Without thinking he sprinted towards the corridor that led out of the cavern, not noticing in his panic that the light of the glowing vines grew dimmer. He stopped and forced himself to breathe more regularly.

Then he sensed movement behind him in the cavern and nearly jumped in fear. But it was merely the Grey Lady, turning her head and stretching her silvery arms. Then the Bloody Baron growled and peered around wildly. Nearly Headless Nick scratched his head and Remus really, really hoped that he wouldn't do any of his tricks with his neck. The Fat Friar and Peeves were the last of the Hogwarts ghosts to wake up. Peeves made a blubbering noise of surprise and immediately drifted higher up in the air, from where he spotted Remus.

"Scoundrel! Villain! Murderer! Thief!" He instantly started to crow as loudly as possible and with as much delight as outrage in his voice. The other four ghosts turned around and Remus knew that he had to do something quickly.

"I'm not the one who imprisoned you down here, I had to kill him to set you free," he said, pointing back in the general direction where the body of Regulus Black lay. "I was a teacher three years ago. Surely you remember me.”

"A werewolf and a Defense against the Dark Arts teacher no less," said the Grey Lady doubtfully. "And a troublesome student, as I seem to recall."

"There's no time for this," Remus pleaded as he suddenly remembered there was more to do. He walked back into the cavern, being careful not to look at the beheaded body. Then he unveiled the portraits that stood along the wall so they could listen to him as well.

"The castle is in grave danger and it is your duty to protect it," he said to the ghosts and portraits.

"Grave danger!" they whispered in hushed voices.

"Headmaster Dumbledore has been under a spell for some time and he was unable to prevent the Dark Lord from his current plans to attack the school with his Death Eaters. You have to warn the students and teachers immediately that he intends to kill Harry Potter tonight!"

"He is right," Nearly Headless Nick said. "It is our sworn duty to protect the castle and grounds. Let us not waste our time!"

He soared up into the air, with the silvery forms of the other three and even Peeves following him. They passed through the strangely glittering ceiling and were gone. Most of the portraits left their frames, too. Only one wizard remained, staring at the table and the immobile form of Regulus Black. Remus recognised him as one of the members of the Black family who still had their portraits in Grimmauld Place.

"He died to save the school," Remus said. The stern faced Slytherin headmaster made a huffing noise, but didn't respond otherwise. Then he turned away swiftly and left his portrait frame as well. Remus paused, unsure how to proceed, when he was startled by a soft voice from the other side of the cavern.

"You said that Albus Dumbledore is under a spell," it said. Remus turned around to face a centaur with the body of a palomino horse and light blond hair and the most stunning blue eyes. His expression was gentle and, Remus thought, slightly sad. Remus had completely forgotten that he had been in the cavern, too, petrified like the ghosts.

"Er, yes," Remus replied. He had never talked to a centaur before. Most magical creatures and beings were wary of him, except for house elves.

The centaur swished his tail. "What kind of spell?" he asked patiently as if he were used to talking to slow people.

"It's called 'Merlin's Tree'," Remus explained. Now he realised whom this must be: it was Firenze, the centaur who had taught Divination last year after Professor Trelawney had been sacked by Umbridge. "It made him fall asleep under an enchanted tree in the Forbidden Forest. The spell should be broken now – the one who cast it is dead."

Firenze nodded sagely. "Ancient and dangerous magic if I'm not mistaken. Someone should look after the headmaster."

"I suppose you would be better suited for that, as I can't Apparate from within the castle and you know your way around the Forest much better than I do," Remus replied. "Lord Voldemort might already be inside the school. In fact, we should hurry."

He wasn't sure if he had the strength to fight many Death Eaters, but he had to do something. He jogged up the corridor that was the only way out of the cavern. Firenze followed him easily; his hooves making a loud clanking noise.

"You're the boy who used to spend the full moon in the Shrieking Shack," Firenze observed. Remus thought that it was a rather nice way to say 'you're a werewolf, aren't you?' He and the other three marauders must have irritated the inhabitants of the Forbidden Forests quite a bit.

"My name's Remus Lupin," he panted. "Yours is Firenze, isn't it?"

"It is." Firenze replied and gave him a critical look. "This path is still long and you seem exhausted already."

"Sorry." He was exhausted but he could still run if he needed to. "You should leave me behind, you're probably faster that way."

"But this path will lead us into the vicinity of the kitchens. From there I'll need the help of a wizard to get outside the castle and to the headmaster. There are staircases," Firenze explained.

"Oh," Remus said, and tried to run faster. But Firenze stopped him with an arm on his shoulder.

"I really think you should accept my help."

"Your help?" Then it dawned on him: the centaur wanted him to ride his back. He almost said 'but I've never been on a horse before,' but then he remembered that this would be a grave insult.

"Alright," he said awkwardly and Firenze lent him a hand. Once he was on the centaurs back, he had no choice but to grip his shoulders not to fall off again.

This way they moved three times as quickly and soon Remus, who had a good sense of orientation, felt that they were only a short way from the Great Hall.

"Where exactly does this passage end?" he asked as Firenze slowed down.

Wisps of white blond hair tickled the backs of his hands as the centaur turned his head to look over his shoulder at him. "The cavern was located beneath the Chamber of Secrets – the ceiling you saw is in fact the surface of a body of water within the Chamber. This passage leads into a corridor beneath the kitchens. I do not think we will meet any Death Eaters here, not if they entered through the Chamber and took one of the passages away from there."

They turned around a last curve and found themselves in front of a massive stone wall. But Firenze didn't hesitate a second and simply trod on, right through the wall as if it were no more than smoke. Behind it, was a stone corridor that smelled strongly of food, lit by bright torches.

"I know where we are," Remus said gratefully and slipped off Firenze's back. "Thank you very much. Now we need only to get past the stairs...".

But how could Remus remove the stairs without a wand? He searched all his pockets, but he didn't have it.

They were rescued by a house-elf appearing with a soft cracking noise. His green tennis-ball eyes were wide with panic. "Master Lupin! You are a friend of Harry Potter!" the elf immediately said to Remus. "Bad things are happening! Harry Potter is in danger –"

"We know that," Remus cut him off gently. "You're Dobby, right? Can you tell me where Harry is now?"

"In Gryffindor Tower, Master Lupin, Sir." The small creature quivered.

"Good. Could you fetch me a wand?"

"A wand, Sir?"

"Quickly. Take one from a student, we need it."

Dobby wobbled slightly, twitching his ears, but then he nodded and vanished with another soft cracking noise. Remus raised his head and listened hard. Now he could hear feet running, probably in the Great Hall and the clanking of wood on stone – perhaps chairs being knocked over.

Dobby returned, carrying not one, but three wands. "I did not know which one to take, Sir," he squeaked.

"That's quite all right, Remus said, taking the one that resembled his own the most closely and pointing it at the staircase. He hoped this spell would work, it was meant for straightening cloth and not stone.

"Aeqour!" he said as loudly as he dared and was startled by the burst of sparks from the borrowed wand and the subsequent rippling motion that went through the stairs, neatly pulverising them and then turning them into a not quite so flat ramp. It wasn't pretty and it had been terribly noisy but it would work.

The centaur nodded appreciatively and carefully walked up the ramp. Remus bent down to Dobby and took the other two wands as well. "Now go and organise the other house-elves. Defend the school," he ordered and then he quickly followed Firenze, hoping that Dobby would be able to do what he had been told to do.

This staircase was the smaller one next to the great marble staircase that led from the Entrance Hall to the first floor of Hogwarts. To their left was the entrance to the Great Hall, open now and showing a mess of knocked over stairs and tables. A group of wizards had barricaded themselves behind the teacher's table and was firing spells and something that Remus couldn't see at the far end of the Great Hall. He wasn't sure whether these people were Death Eaters or teachers but once he thought he saw Professor Sinistra's dark-haired head peeking out behind the table.

On the other side of the Entrance Hall, another open door led to a wing of the castle with several classrooms. From there, as well as from the first floor, they could hear the sound of people running and shouting. A stray curse hit the floor at the foot of the marble staircase. Suddenly two figures dressed in black hooded cloaks appeared in the doors that led to the classrooms. They hesitated a moment, staring at the entrance to the Great Hall and whispered to each other.

Remus beckoned the centaur back a few steps down the ramp. "I can give you cover for a few seconds from those two," he whispered. "Will that be enough to get outside?"

The centaur nodded and waited for Remus to creep forward again. Remus threw a look at the two Death Eaters. They seemed to be arguing over something.

"Now!" he shouted and Firenze darted past him, galloping through the hall..

"Expelliarmus!" he yelled, hoping that this basic spell would work with the borrowed wand. He hit one of the surprised Death Eaters, throwing him back a few meters into the corridor that led to the classrooms.

But the other one reacted quickly and sent a Stunning Spell into Remus' direction.

"Protego!" Remus called in the last moment and it worked, protecting him from the Stunner. Meanwhile Firenze had reached the double doors and opened them.

Remus tried Expelliarmus once more, but this time his wand fired the spell with an alarming angry crack and it hit the ceiling instead. The standing Death Eater sneered beneath his silver mask.

"Locomotor Mortis!" he cried and even while Remus dodged the spell he thought that a Leg-locking Curse was a rather unusual curse to use in a serious wizarding duel.

Firenze slipped through the doors just as the second Death Eater got up again and Remus could hear the loud clatter of his hooves as he galloped towards the Forest.

"Petrificus Totalis!" Remus yelled, pointing his wand at the Death Eater who had tried to use the Leg-Locker. It worked; the short man fell to the floor like a stiff board.

"Take this!" the other one screamed in a rather light and not very dangerous sounding voice, giving Remus time to renew his Shielding Charm. "Reducto!"

Remus thought that those two were not the most dangerous Death Eaters he'd ever come across. Perhaps they weren't even real ones; perhaps they were just some misguided Slytherins. He fired another Petrifying Spell. The Death Eater froze, the part of his face that wasn't hidden by the mask became red as a tomato and then he fell to the ground like his partner.

Remus took a deep breath and turned around to find another three Death Eaters on the big marble staircase. They had calmly watched the whole duel.

"Surrender," one of them said and Remus almost dropped his wand in sheer surprise - the man in the black robes and the silver mask who was asking him to surrender was, quite unmistakably, Severus Snape.

"Expelliarmus," Snape said coldly and Remus' wand flew out of his slack hand and into Snape's.

"That one wasn't on the list," complained the Death Eater to Snape's right. "He's not a teacher or an Auror...".

"He's a member of the Order of the Phoenix," Snape replied, sounding as condescending as if he were speaking to a group of especially slow First Years. "Use your brain, will you?"

He strode down the stairs until he was standing directly in front of Remus. Most of his face was hidden by the silver mask, but a few strands of lank black hair and his gleaming black eyes betrayed his identity. Remus didn't know what to believe. Of course Snape was a better actor than most people thought and of course it was entirely possible that this was all just an act. But why would Snape do this? Being captured and missing gave him the perfect excuse not to take part in any Death Eater activities. If he was free and unharmed by Regulus, shouldn't he be trying to help Dumbledore or save Harry instead of prancing around in a Death Eater costume?

"Where did that creature run to?" Snape asked sharply. Remus was confused until he realised that Snape was talking about Firenze.

"He fled to the Forbidden Forest," Remus answered as convincingly as he could. "Centaurs live there," he added.

"Don't lie to me, half-breed scum!" Snape snarled. "This one has been expelled by the other centaurs. He has been living in the castle for months. Where did he run to?"

Remus clenched his teeth. The silence was disturbed by the sound of breaking glass as one of the tall windows in the Great Hall was smashed. A rain of shards fell to the floor, followed by painful yells. Snape raised his wand. His mouth was tight and his bearing tense. Remus realised that the Death Eaters were winning, even though everyone in the castle and perhaps even the castle itself was fighting them. Where was Voldemort? Had he already found Harry? The two Death Eaters who were with Snape seemed distracted by the noise from the first floor.

"Answer my question," Snape demanded. Remus made a decision.

"The witch is dead, the spell's undone," he muttered. "The fortune teller's picking apples, the once and future king's to come."

Nothing happened for the fraction of a second and Remus feared that Snape might not have understood the coded message, even though it was a terribly obvious one. Or perhaps he had and he was really a traitor – but Remus found that he trusted Snape, or else he wouldn't have told him what was going on.

Snape turned around to his two companions. "We're wasting our time," he said calmly. And with the same absolute calm, he directed a bright red Stunner at the left one, who collapsed and rolled down the stairs. The other one ducked behind a statue and yelled an unintelligible curse. It went past Snape and hit Remus in the leg. Wild fire filled his bones and he fell to the ground with an agonised scream.

"Mutilocorpus!" the Death Eater screeched just as Snape's next hex hit him and he slumped limply to the ground. The Slashing Hex hit Snape with full force and he stumbled backwards with a surprised groan. He tripped over Remus limp legs and fell.

A moment of painful and dazed silence passed in which Remus wasn't entirely sure that he wasn't mortally wounded. He couldn't feel his legs and couldn't tell if Snape was still breathing. He heard the noise of the ongoing fight as if muted by thick glass.

Then his breath became a little easier, but his legs still remained stubbornly numb. He grabbed the closest object – Snape's right foot – and drew himself closer to the wounded man.

Blood dampened the black Death Eater robes, but Snape was still breathing shallowly. Remus managed to free his paralysed legs and crawl to a spot closer to Snape's face. He pulled off the silver mask. Snape had his eyes closed and a nasty bleeding cut split his right cheek.

"Damn, that was close," Remus whispered to himself. Suddenly Snape grabbed his arm.

"Black's dead?" he wheezed.

"A long story," Remus said weakly. Black spots started to appear in his vision. "He was on our side after all."

Snape opened his eyes just slightly, but they remained blank and unfocused. He seemed to be slipping in and out of consciousness. Something huge crashed down the marble staircase, making Remus flinch.

"We did our best," whispered Remus. Even though he knew it to be true, it wasn't very comforting. "I think... we made a good team." Snape didn't reply, perhaps he was unconscious again.

Their fight was either lost or won, but it was over for the two of them.

Remus couldn't keep his head up any longer and finally rested it on the stone floor next to Snape's shoulder, facing the entrance of the castle. The tall double doors blurred in front of his eyes as his vision grew darker, but then light blinded him and a wisp of air cooled his face. He thought he saw a tall figure standing in the doorway, a king come home.

 

Epilogue 1 : Rewards

Albus Dumbledore arrived just in time to save Harry's life. Voldemort fled, leaving more than a dozen Death Eaters, most of them young and inexperienced, behind to be captured. On their side there were many casualties among the student and teacher body. Two Hufflepuff students, one of the Ravenclaw prefects and a Slytherin Seventh Year were killed. Professor Sprout, Professor Sinistra and Professor Vector would all have to spend at least two months in St. Mungo's hospital.

Regulus Black's body was retrieved from the chamber beneath the castle. The headmaster testified that Black had been a spy for the Order from the start and that he had been acting under a mind control not unlike the Imperius Curse.

The sentence against Remus Lupin and Severus Snape was rescinded immediately and they both spend the next days recovering in the hospital wing of Hogwarts.

*

Remus felt good enough to get up, but Poppy refused to let him get up for anything else but to go to the bathroom. She was fussing over him like she had when he had still been a boy. He felt a bit silly, but somehow he enjoyed it.

In the bed to his left, closer to the windows, laid Snape. The many cuts from the Slashing Hex were now bandaged and made him look like an especially sour faced and half unwrapped mummy. The other beds were all occupied by students who had been injured during the attack. Remus had never seen the hospital wing so full of patients.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville and Ginny Weasley had visited him today. All except Hermione – who had helped them enough to make up for mistrusting them in the first place – were terribly sorry to ever have fallen for Regulus' Glamours. Especially Ron and Harry just wouldn't stop apologising. But Remus also noticed a certain sadness about Harry. How much had they been told about Regulus? Even though it had only been the Glamour, Harry had been almost as attached to Regulus as to Sirius. Did Harry know that Remus had killed him? He couldn't bring himself to tell the boy.

Of course they also thanked him for rescuing them. Remus briefly considered telling them to thank Snape as well, but then he reminded himself that Snape would never forgive him for doing so.

Now it was late in the evening and Poppy had shooed all visitors away. Most patients were sleeping. When Dumbledore quietly entered the infirmary, Remus thought that he would probably visit Snape to get a report from him about their activities as he had tried the day before, when Snape had still been too drugged with Painkilling Potions to reply coherently, but instead he sat down gracefully on a chair next to Remus' bed and smiled brightly at him.

"I see you're well? Poppy isn't smothering you too much?"

Remus smiled and shook his head. "No more than usual."

Dumbledore chuckled, then his face grew sombre. "I have to thank you, of course. You saved all our lives," he said.

Remus still couldn't get around that notion. James had always been the live-saver. Harry was the hero. He was just Remus. Usually, the best he could do was not to eat anyone.

"I'm very pleased that you and Severus could work together so brilliantly, too," Dumbledore went on. "I always knew you would make great friends if you could just work around your differences."

Remus couldn't suppress a small chortle. "I don't think we're quite as far as friends," he said.

"But surely you will now be able to tolerate each other as colleagues?" Dumbledore asked innocently but with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Colleagues?" Remus narrowed his eyes. "We don't work together much in the Order."

"Not in the Order, my boy. As you might recall, the post of the teacher of Defence Against the Dark Arts is once more vacant."

Remus was stunned at the proposition. The reminder that he had killed Regulus dampened the joy he felt at it quite a bit. "I almost wish it wasn't," he confessed.

Dumbledore looked at him for a long time. Then he shook his head ever so slightly. "You did him a favour, Remus. Death was a mercy to him."

"I know," Remus said softly. It was wrong to expect fairness from life. Little boys got bitten by werewolves. Babies got cursed with destinies too hard for even heroes to live up to. Men sacrificed all they had for a cause and never got the slightest reward. People died for nothing, all the time.

"There is a reward," Dumbledore gently said. "A reward for all of them. It's silent and wordless and it exists only in our hearts, but I think it's the greatest one can expect. Regulus knew this and that's what made him strong enough to stay a human being after all."

 

Epilogue 2: Full Moon Circle

Remus gulped down the steaming potion and grimaced. "Is there a new ingredient? I think it tastes worse if that is even possible."

They were in Remus' room, not his office, which was still a mess from the fight. It was the night of the full moon. Snape had brought him the Wolfsbane potion, but to Remus surprise he sat down stiffly in on of the armchairs around the coffee table instead of leaving as soon as he had handed him the goblet. They hadn't talked much since they had both been released from the infirmary, only shortly when Snape had acknowledged the fact that Remus was a teacher again. Remus hadn't been able to tell whether Snape was angry or glad or simply indifferent.

"Werewolf finger, minced," Snape replied. Remus stared first at him, then at the empty goblet, then at Snape again. Then he laughed in relief.

"That was a rather tasteless joke, Severus." The Potions Master smiled thinly but said nothing. Remus raised his brows.

"Is there something else?" he asked.

"No," Snape said.

A clock on the mantelpiece chimed. Remus was getting unnerved. "The moon will rise in a few minutes, Severus. Unless you want to observe the effects of your potion firsthand, I suggest that you leave now."

Snape didn't reply, but he also didn't get up. He simply stared at Remus. Tiredly, Remus gave up.

"I understand. You want to watch, don't you?"

"Unless it embarrasses you," Snape answered coolly.

Remus got up and paced to the window. He could feel the pull of the silver orb behind the mountains, but the heat in his blood was dulled by the potion. Slowly, with his hands shaking only slightly, he unbuttoned his robes. It was cold in the room as there was no fire in the grate.

Snape wasn't so wrong. It was not exactly embarrassing, but he certainly wasn't comfortable having an audience when he changed into the wolf. Sirius was the only one who had ever seen him transform with permission from Remus.

But if Snape willingly stayed to observe this, then this was almost a peace offering.

"I guess it will have some symbolic value," Remus said, willing his voice to remain steady and human. "If we hadn't managed to work together, we would still be in that cell right now."

He turned away from the window and looked at Snape. The other man appeared to be calm, but his posture betrayed fear and apprehension. Remus put his robes over the back of a chair and remained standing in the middle of the room. He felt naked even though he still wore his undergarments and Snape, fully clothed, seemed just as naked to him.

"Are you still afraid of what I am?" Remus asked as long as he still could.

"I've seen what you are," Snape replied. Beneath the apprehension, Remus thought he glimpsed raw fascination.

Remus smiled crookedly, even as he felt his bones starting to bend and shift beneath his skin. "And you still want to look at me?"


End file.
